De Sylva was, at least, a born leader.
CHAPTER VIII
THE RIGOR OF THE GAME
In obedience to their leader's order, Marcel, the taciturn, and
Domingo, from whose lips the Britons had scarce heard a syllable,
squatted on the catamaran. Marcel wielded a short paddle, and an
almost imperceptible dip of its broad blade sent the strangely-built
craft across the pool. Once in the shadow, it disappeared completely.
There was no visible outlet. The rocks thrust their stark ridge
against the sky in a seemingly impassable barrier. Some of the men
stared at the jagged crests as though they half expected to see the
Brazilians making a portage, just as travelers in the Canadian
northwest haul canoes up a river obstructed by rapids.
"Well, that gives me the go-by," growled Coke, whose alert ear caught
no sound save the rippling of the water. "I say, mister, 'ow is it
done?" he went on.
"It is a simple thing when you know the secret," said De Sylva. "Have
you passed Fernando Noronha before, Captain?"
"Many a time."
"Have you seen the curious natural canal which you sailors call the
Hole in the Wall?"
"Yes, it's near the s'uth'ard end."
"Well, the sea has worn away a layer of soft rock that existed there.
In the course of centuries a channel has been cut right across the two
hundred yards of land.
Pages:
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165