These lengthened zigzags soon carried them far up the broad water, and the farther they went the smaller the waves became, having so much the less distance to come, till presently they were but big ripples, and the boat ceased to dance. As the waves did not now oppose her progress so much, there was but little spray, and she slipped through faster. The motive power, the wind, was the same; the opposing force, the waves, less. The speed increased, and they soon approached Bevis’s island, having worked the whole distance up against the wind. They agreed to land, and Mark brought her to the very spot where they had got out before. Bevis doused the mainsail, leaped out, and tugged her well aground. After Mark had stepped ashore they careened the boat and baled out the water. There was no tree or root sufficiently near to fasten the painter to, so they took out the anchor, carried it some way inland, and forced one of the flukes into the ground. The boat was quite safe and far enough aground not to drift off, but it was not proper to leave a ship without mooring her. Mark wanted to go and look at the place he thought so well adapted for a cave, so they walked through between the bushes, when he suddenly remembered that the vessel in which they had just accomplished so successful a voyage had not got a name. “The ship ought to have a name,” he said. “Blue boat sounds stupid.” “So she ought,” said Bevis. “Why didn’t we think of it before? There’s Arethusa, Agamemnon, Sandusky, Orient--” “Swallow, Viking, Saint George--but that won’t do,” said Mark. “Those are ships that sail now and some have steam; what were old ships--” “Argo,” said Bevis. “I wonder what was the name of Ulysses’ ship--” “I know,” said Mark, “Pinta--that’s it. One of Columbus’s ships, you know. He was the first to go over there, and we’re the first on the New Sea.” “So we are; it shall be Pinta, I’ll paint it, and the island ought to have a name too.” “Of course. Let’s see: Tahiti?” said Mark. “Loo-choo?” “Celebes?” “Carribbees?” “Cyclades? But those are a lot of islands, aren’t they?” “Formosa is a good name,” said Bevis. “It sounds right. But I don’t know where it is--it’s somewhere.” “Don’t matter--call it New Formosa.” “Capital,” said Bevis. “The very thing; there’s New Zealand and New Guinea. Right. It’s New Formosa.” “Or the Land of Magic.” “New Formosa or the Magic Land,” said Bevis. “I’ll write it down on the map we made when we get home.” “Here’s the place,” said Mark. “This is where the cave ought to be,” pointing at a spot where the sandy cliff rose nearly perpendicular; “and then we ought to have a hut over it.” “Poles stuck in and leaning down and thatched.” “Yes, and a palisade of thick stakes stuck in, in front of the door.” “So that no one could take us by surprise at night.” “And far enough off for us to have our fire inside.” “Twist bushes in between the stakes.” “Quite impassable to naked savages.” “How high?”