Suddenly, however, after a while, Dick raised his hand.
“Yes!” he said; “yes; sure enough, yonder is land.”
He clung with excitement to the netting; and Mrs. Weldon, supported by Hercules, strained her eyes yet more vehemently to get a glimpse of a shore which she had begun to despair of ever reaching.
Beyond a doubt an elevated peak was there. It must be about ten miles to leeward. A break in the clouds soon left it more distinct. Some promontory it must be upon the American coast. Without sails, of course, the Pilgrim had no chance of bearing down direct upon it; but at least there was every reason to believe that she would soon reach some other portion of the shore; perhaps before noon, certainly in a few hours, they must be close to land.
The pitching of the ship made it impossible for Mrs. Weldon to keep safe footing on the deck; accordingly, at a sign from Dick, Hercules led her back again to her cabin.
Dick did not remain long at the bow, but went thoughtfully back to the wheel.
He had, indeed, a tremendous responsibility before him. Here was the land, the land for which they had longed so eagerly; and now that their anticipations were on the point of being realized, what was there, with a hurricane driving them on towards it, to prevent that land being their destruction? What measures could he take to prevent the schooner being dashed to pieces against it?
At the very moment when the promontory was just abreast of them, Negoro appeared on deck; he nodded to the peak familiarly, as he might have saluted a familiar friend, and retired as stealthily as he had come.
Two hours later, and the promontory was lying to the larboard wake. Dick Sands had never relaxed his watchfulness, but he had failed to discover any further indications of a coastline. His perplexity could only increase; the horizon was clear; the Andes ought to be distinct; they would be conspicuous twenty miles or more away. Dick took up his telescope again and again; he scrutinized the eastern horizon with minutest care; but there was nothing to be seen; and as the afternoon waned away the last glimpse had been taken of the promontory that had awakened their expectation; it had vanished utterly from their gaze; no indication of shore could be seen from the Pilgrim’s deck.
Dick Sands uttered a sigh of mingled amazement and relief. He went into Mrs. Weldon’s cabin, where she was standing with her party.
“It was only an island!” he said; “only an island!”
“How? why? what island? what do you mean?” cried Mrs. Weldon incredulously; “what island can it be?”
“The chart perhaps will tell us,” replied Dick; and hurrying off to his own cabin, he immediately returned with the chart in his hands.
After studying it attentively for a few minutes, he said—
“There, Mrs. Weldon; the land we have just passed, I should suppose must be that little speck in the midst of the Pacific. It must be Easter Island. At least, there seems to be no other land which possibly it could be.”
“And do you say,” inquired Mrs. Weldon, “that we have left it quite behind us?”
“Yes, entirely; almost to windward.”
Mrs. Weldon commenced a searching scrutiny of the map that was outspread before her.
“How far is this,” she said, after bending a considerable time over the chart; “how far is this from the coast of America?”
“Thirty-five degrees,” answered Dick; “somewhere about 2,500 miles.”
“What ever do you mean?” rejoined the lady astonished; “if the Pilgrim is still 2,500 miles from shore, she has positively made no progress at all. Impossible!”
In thoughtful perplexity, Dick passed his hand across his brow. He did not know what to say. After an interval of silence, he said—
“I have no account to give for the strange delay. It is inexplicable to myself, except upon that one hypothesis, which I cannot resist, that the readings of the compass, somehow or other, have been wrong.”
He relapsed into silence. Then, brightening up, he added—
“But, thank God! at least we have now the satisfaction of knowing where we really are; we are no longer lost upon the wide Pacific; if only this hurricane will cease, long as the distance seems, we are on our proper course to the shores of America.”
The tone of confidence with which the youthful captain spoke had the effect of inspiring new hope into all who heard him; their spirits rose, and to their sanguine mood it seemed as if they were approaching to the end of all their troubles, and had hardly more to do than to await the turning of a tide to bring them into a glad proximity to port.
Easter Island, of which the true name is Vai-Hoo, was discovered by David in 1686 and visited by Cook and Lapérouse. It lies in lat. 27° S., and long. 112° E.; consequently, it was evident that during the raging of the hurricane the schooner had been driven northwards no less than fifteen degrees. Far away, however, as she was from shore, the wind could hardly fail within ten days to carry her within sight of land; and then, if the storm had worn itself out, (as probably it would,) the Pilgrim would again hoist sail, and make her way into some port with safety. Anyhow, the discovery of his true position restored a spirit of confidence to Dick Sands, and he anticipated the time when he should no longer be drifting helplessly before the storm.
To say the truth, the Pilgrim had suffered very little from the prolonged fury of the weather. The damage she had sustained was limited to the loss of the topsail and the small jib, which could be easily replaced. The caulking of the seams remained thoroughly sound, and no drop of water had
