Indeed, in less than five
minutes, a definite clearing yet darkening of the atmospheric light
showed that land was near. The hiss of the ripple subsided, the tide
ceased its chant, and a dark mass sprang into uncanny distinctness
right ahead.
The girl's first sensation on nearing the island was an unpleasant one.
She was conscious of a slight but somewhat nauseating odor, quite
unlike anything within her ken previously. It suffused the air, and
grew more pronounced as the catamaran crept noiselessly into a tiny bay.
Hozier sympathized with her distress; knowing that acquaintance with an
evil often helps to minimize its effect, he bent close to her ear and
whispered the words:
"Mangrove swamp."
Iris had read of mangroves. In a dim way, she classed them with
tamarinds, and cocoa-palms, and other sub-tropical products. At any
rate, she was exceedingly anxious to tell Hozier that if mangroves
tasted as they smelt she would need to be very hungry before she ate
one!
Marcel was endowed with quick ears. Though Hozier's whisper could
hardly have reached him, he held up a warning hand, even while he
brought the catamaran ashore on the shingle, so gently that not a
pebble was disturbed. He rose, a gaunt scarecrow, stepped off, and
drew the shallow craft somewhat further up the sloping beach.
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