They tacked through between Rio and the islands. Rio Bay lay deserted as they had never seen it. No one was up. The houses had blinds in all their windows. Yachts lay at their moorings. The rowing boats of the natives lay drawn up on the beach. There was not a native to be seen.
“It won’t be sunrise for some time yet,” said John, looking up at the faint glow in the sky over the hills.
They sailed out into the open lake beyond the islands, and made a long board across to the farther side. Then, “Ready about,” and back again. Their second tack beyond the islands let them see into the narrow bay below Holly Howe. There was Holly Howe itself, the farmhouse, white among its yew trees and hollies, up on the hillside at the top of the sloping field. Mother and Vicky and nurse were in there asleep. John looked at Susan, and Susan looked at John. Both had the same thought, but neither said anything. It was not an altogether comfortable thought. Still, they would soon be back at the camp on Wild Cat Island.
At last Susan said, “I hope to goodness Titty had the sense to go to sleep.”
“Bet she didn’t,” said John. “She wouldn’t want to, anyhow.”
They left the Peak of Darien astern. John saw the houseboat moored to its big buoy in Houseboat Bay, but it reminded him of his meeting with Captain Flint, so he looked the other way.
They could see Wild Cat Island now, and suddenly Susan said, “Titty’s awake. She’s got a most tremendous fire.”
A big column of smoke was lifting and blowing from the island.
“Hullo,” said John. “There’s a boat. Why, it’s the Amazon .”
“Where?” said Susan.