I stood staring for some moments, with my mind in a state of confusion. _There_ was the island! The mass of it standing upon the light blue glory of water northeast was a hard rebuke to my skepticism. Yet--shall I say it--not the most mercenary of the munching Jacks in the bows could have felt a keener delight at the sight of that island than I. It signified dollars and independence to my ardent hopes. I had thought much upon my share of six thousand pounds, dreamt of the money often, had builded many fancies tall and radiant upon Greaves’ bond, and, sometimes had I believed that Greaves’ story was true, and sometimes had I believed that Greaves’ story was a dream, and therefore a lie. And now there was the island, down away over the starboard bow, a lump of shadow against the blue, to verify Greaves’ assurance of an island being thereabout anyhow, and on the merits of that verification to warrant all the rest of the wonder of cave, of ship, and of a lazarette full of dollars! For a few moments only I stood staring. Thought hath wondrous velocity, and in a few moments much will pass through the mind. I stepped up to Greaves as his walk brought him to me. I should have wished to give him my hand, but the etiquette of the quarter-deck forbade that. “Captain,” said I, in a low voice, full, nevertheless, of cordiality and enthusiasm, “I warmly congratulate you.” “And yourself,” said he dryly. “And myself,” said I, “and all hands, including Mynheer Tulp.” “Seeing is believing,” said he, still dryly. I looked at the island. “And yet,” continued he, “though that land be there the ship and her cargo may be nothing more than a dream.” He had seen a little deeper into me than I had supposed. Finding him sarcastic I held my peace, and the better to cover my silence stooped to caress Galloon. He changed his voice and manner. “My observations,” said he, “of the latitude and longitude of that island were perfectly correct, you see.” “Perfectly correct, indeed,” I echoed. “It is strange that so big a rock should remain uncharted.” “Nothing is strange at sea--in this sea particularly. The Spaniards are always for making their journeys by one road. Anything lying off that road they miss, unless they happen to be blown on to it, when one of two things happens; they perish, or they petition the Madonna and escape. If they escape, they have no more to tell about the rock or coast from which they narrowly came off with their lives than if they had perished. Why is that island uncharted by the Spaniards? Is it because no mariner among them has fallen in with it? Oh, they are lazy rogues all, they are lazy rogues all; timid, fearful navigators, execrable hydrographers.” “It is odd that no Englishman should have fallen in with it.” “That is as it happens to be.”