“Look!” said Nat Gibson to the two sailors.

      The two sailors leaned on their oars. In twenty minutes, the dinghy had reached the James Cook. Then the captain, still distrusting part of his crew, was careful to have the dinghy replaced in its cradle.

      The fish were graciously accepted by Mr. Hawkins, and, as he was interested in natural history, he could study his blennies, which he had never before held in his hands.

      Nat Gibson told his father about what he thought he had seen when he was in the dinghy by the coral reefs.

      The captain and the shipowner paid strict attention to what the young man had to say. They knew full well that, since the abandonment of the island as a place of detention, it had to be deserted. The natives of the neighboring archipelagoes, Australians, Maoris, or Papouas, never had the thought of settling down there.

      “It’s possible, nevertheless, that fishermen might be in the neighborhood,” Flig Balt remarked, for he was taking part in the conversation.

      “Indeed,” responded the shipowner, “that would not be surprising at this time of year.”

      “Did you see any craft inside the reef?” the captain asked his son.

      “None, Father.”

      “Well, I think,” said the bosun, “that Mr. Nat might have made a mistake. Dusk had already fallen. So, in my opinion, Captain, if the wind comes up tonight we would be wise to pull anchor.”

      One can understand that. Flig Balt, already quite vexed by the presence of Mr. Hawkins and Nat Gibson on board the brig, feared nothing as much as taking on new passengers. Under these conditions he would be obliged to give up his plan—which he didn’t intend to do. His accomplices and he were formally resolved to take over the ship before arriving at New Ireland.

      “However,” continued the captain, “if Nat has not made a mistake, if there are shipwrecked men on this side of Norfolk—and why wouldn’t they be from the Wilhelmina?—we have to help them. I would be wanting in my duties as a man and as a sailor if I set sail without being sure.”

      “You’re right, Gibson,” approved Mr. Hawkins. “But I’m thinking, that man that Nat thought he saw, might he not be some convict escaped from the penitentiary and remaining on the island?”

      “Well, that man would be very old now,” answered the captain, “for the evacuation dates from 1842, and if he were already in prison by then, since we are in 1885, he’d be more than a septuagenarian now!”

      “That’s true, Gibson, but I’ll still prefer the idea that people shipwrecked in the Dutch schooner might have been cast up onto Norfolk, if Nat has not made a mistake.”

      “No, I don’t think so!” the young man confirmed.

      “Then,” Mr. Hawkins said, “those poor folks would have been there some two weeks, for the shipwreck probably did not occur earlier than that.”

      “Right, according to what the captain of the Assumption told us,” answered Mr. Gibson. “So tomorrow, let’s do everything we can, all that we have to do. Yes, as Nat believes, if a man is on that side of the coast, he’ll stay till daylight to observe the brig, and, despite the distance, we’ll make him out with our field glasses.”

      “But, Captain,” insisted the bosun, “I repeat, perhaps a wind, a favorable wind will rise tonight …”

      “Whether it rises or not, Balt, the James Cook will remain at anchor, and we shall not sail without having sent out a reconnaissance boat. I will not leave Norfolk Island until we’ve inspected the area around Northeast Point, even if we must spend a whole day at it.”

      “Good, Father, and I’m convinced that it will not be time wasted …”

      “Isn’t that your opinion, Hawkins?” the captain asked, turning toward the shipowner.

      “Absolutely,” responded Mr. Hawkins.

      And, indeed, it would be inappropriate to congratulate Mr. Gibson too much on his resolution. Acting like that, was he not fulfilling a basic humanitarian duty?

      When Flig Balt reached the forequarters, he told Vin Mod what had just been said and just been decided. The sailor was no more pleased than the bosun. After all, perhaps Nat Gibson was mistaken … It’s even possible none of those shipwrecked on the Wilhelmina had sought refuge on that shore … The question would be resolved in some twelve hours.

      Night arrived, a fairly dark night, a night with a new moon. A curtain of high fog veiled the constellations. Nevertheless, the land was visible, dimly, in the west, a rather somber mass at the edge of the horizon.

      Toward nine o’clock a light breeze caused the sea to wash against the James Cook, which turned the ninety degrees on its anchor chain. This breeze would have facilitated their navigating north, for it blew from the southwest. But the captain did not change his mind, and the brig remained at its mooring.

      Besides, they were only intermittent puffs that skimmed the peak of Mount Pitt. The sea soon fell back to a calm.

      Mr. Hawkins, Mr. Gibson, and his son were seated aft. They were not in a hurry to return to their rooms; they breathed deeply of the fresh evening air after the warmth of the day.

      Now, it was twenty-five minutes past nine when Nat Gibson, getting to his feet and looking toward land, took a few steps to port.

      “A fire! There’s a fire!” he said.

      “A fire?” repeated the shipowner.

      “Yes, Mr. Hawkins.”

      “And in what direction?”

      “Toward the rock where I saw that man …”

      “That’s right,” declared the captain.

      “You see? I wasn’t mistaken,” Nat Gibson cried out.

      A