“By the tree-moss on the island,” said she, and I was silenced.
This peculiar moss is an unfailing guide to the traveller, because it
will only grow upon the north side of trees. Akshelah’s wonderful eyes
had caught the information as we swept past the ghostly island.
Redpath had destroyed the compasses, and Lennie was steering the ship
by the inaccurate instrument the adventurer had provided. We were off
our course, and Redpath was having us borne to his own destination.
I told Akshelah to stay while I went in search of MacCaskill, but
she disobeyed me as usual. We fought our way along, bending before
the wind, but the deck was clear. I came to the wheel-house, and
clung to it to keep myself perpendicular. Within I saw two frightened
faces--Lennie clinging to the wheel, his coat off, his muscles
swelling, his black eyes staring from a perfectly pallid countenance;
Sandy struggling with one hand to control a smoked lantern, with the
other to hold the lying compass, so that the captain might see it. Both
men were more terrified than suspicious.
I was so injudicious as to yell a suggestion that the storm had carried
us out of our course.
Lennie never put his eyes on me. I swung myself round to the mate’s
side, and the little man shouted:
“See the island?”