Two Sorts of Fish
“There’s nothing for it,” said the able-seaman. “We shall have to fetch the others and Captain Flint. It’s his sea-chest. I’m sure it is, and it’s got his pirate book in it.”
“Let’s take Swallow and row,” said Roger.
But there was no need. For a long time the fish had not been biting, partly perhaps because there were too many fishermen in the boat, and partly, as Captain Flint said, because they knew there was a change coming in the weather. It was very hot, and the air was heavy, and though the wind had died away altogether there were big, hard-edged dark clouds lifting slowly over the hills in the south. The whaling party had decided it had done enough whaling, and was on its way home. Susan had said, “Those two have been on Cormorant Island long enough.” And Captain Flint, who knew that they were looking for his chest, and was sure that they had been looking in vain, had said, “We’ll row across there and give them a tow home.” So when Titty and Roger looked across the lake expecting to find the others, where they had last seen them, fishing south of the island near the opposite shore, the whaling party was already more than halfway across the lake and rowing steadily towards them.
Titty climbed up, and stood on the fallen trunk of the tree, and waved and shouted. There was a shout back from over the water, but at first neither the whalers nor the treasure-hunters could hear each other’s words.
The first words the treasure-hunters heard showed how little what they had been shouting had been understood.