About noon, Jim, who was on look-out duty forward, sang out excitedly that he saw something ahead, sticking out of the sea. "Looks like a ship's mast," he cried, "but there don't seem no yards or sails on it, 'cept what looks like a flag flying at the truck." Eagerly they all, except Jack, strained their eyes on the distant object. "Appears to me like one o' them Sitka Indian totem-poles," called Broncho to the rover. "It's a cert it ain't got no fixin's." "No hull in sight yet?" asked Jack, with the low, subdued voice which had come upon him with his blindness. "Nary a thing. It shore looks some queer an' lonely out thar, a-stickin' out o' the scenery like a burnt pine." Suddenly Jim began shouting with all the strength of his lungs. "Land ho! Land! Land! Land! Hurray! The island at last!" Sure enough the boy was right. Away a point to starboard of the mysterious mast a long clump of palms was appearing in view. "Him Low Island" asserted Tari, after a short look. "An atoll, certainly," said Jack from aft; "but we're rather far south for the Low Archipelago. It must be one of the Gambier group." "Why, it's quite close," cried Jim. "I can see the surf now all along, and the mast is sticking right out of the middle of it." "Inhabited, then!" exclaimed Jack uneasily. "Get those Winchesters loaded, Broncho. One can't trust Paumotu Islanders; they're a treacherous lot, and have cut off many a ship before now." Swiftly the rushing whaleboat approached before the strong trades. Here and there to right and left the white water, flashing in the sunshine, swirled and thundered on half-covered reefs, round which countless numbers of shrieking, swooping seabirds hovered and darted as they fished. Round these reefs the deep blue of the Pacific changed to a translucent emerald green, such as is given to the submerged part of an iceberg when the bright sun is upon it. The island was evidently but the smallest of coral reefs, studded with a thin growth of cocoanut palms, which seemed thickest at the point where Jim had first sighted them. Like all atolls, its highest point was but a few feet above the sea-level, and it hung, but a floating speck of shining white sand and green foliage, in the midst of the immense space of blue sea and sky. But for the screaming birds, no sign of life showed, no habitations, no smoke, nothing but the green brush, the gleaming sand, and shining, flashing surf. And yet, set in the very midst, rose a gigantic palm, bare as a ship's spare topgallant mast, entirely denuded of its cluster of yellow fruit and waving, fernlike branches. From its top fluttered a small, small flag, undistinguishable at the distance, but without possible doubt a signal of some importance, put there by human hands. As the whaleboat drew nearer the hoarse grumble of the surf could be heard as it cast itself in long rollers upon the narrow, fragile strip of beach, with the whole weight of the Pacific behind it.