“Is that the Marjorie off there, do you think?” asked Tom.
“Cannot say, I’m sure,” replied the captain. “But we will just hold to our course and see if she raises. I doubt if they see us, and the Marjorie will have a hunt to pick us up again.”
“I can’t see anything of them,” said the captain, an hour later, sweeping the horizon with his glass. “We can lay over course direct for the island of Bohoola.”
Relieved of the shadow of impending trouble which the persistent trailing of the yacht by the mysterious vessel had cast over them, the spirits of all rose perceptibly and as nothing was seen of her for the next two or three days some began to think that it was only a coincident of their sailing upon the same course, and that their fears had been unfounded.
Several days of steady progress under full spread of sail carried the voyager on beyond the equator. No incident worthy of note transpired. There was, of course, a constantly augmented desire for the sight of land and for the varieties and delicacies of food denied them. Hard tack and salt fish become very monotonous if too long persisted in.
Hopes of an early termination of the journey were beginning to run high when, as the captain determined that they had arrived at a point estimated to be less than three days from their destination. The other boys were now told the story of the chart then in Jim’s possession, and one day together with the professor, a careful study of the descriptions and instructions were gone over. They were careful to see that no one was near either cabin door, but they did not observe that both the mate and the steward, who were much in each other’s company, were seated on the cabin roof.
The instructions contained in the chart were meagre in the extreme. The location of the island was fairly well given, but after that much seemed to be left to chance. The main and essential feature which all impressed on their memory was “an opening to a cave high up and difficult of access.” A blue stone marked in some way the entrance.
The next morning the sun rose hot almost beyond endurance to greet an atmosphere of perfect calm. Not a ripple stirred the surface of the great southern sea. The Storm King, master in a turmoil, was conquered and helpless when denied a breeze, and lay with drooping canvas, motionless.
So passed that day and the next with discomfort to the voyagers and without progress.
“There is only one thing to do,” determined the professor. “Mr. Berwick, will you start up the engine, and we will end our trip under steam?”