"Shiver my timbers!" exclaimed Ben, "whar did you boys come from? Did
you turn back?"
"Turn back?" echoed Frank, "no, we've been keeping right on."
"Wall," drawled Ben, "then what I was afeard of at first is true."
"What's that, Ben?"
"Why, that we are on an island."
"On an island!"
"Yes, a floating island."
For a moment they were all dumb with amazement. Then Ben went on:
"I've heard old sailors tell of such things off of this yer coast.
These islands--as they are called--are nothing more or less than huge
sections of forest torn from the banks of the Amazon when it is in
flood and floated out ter sea on its current."
"But how can they keep afloat?" asked Harry.
"Why the tangled roots and tree limbs keep 'em up for a long time,"
rejoined Ben, "and then they sink."
"I hope our island isn't sinking," exclaimed Frank, anxiously looking
about him.
"Not much fear of that; but it's moving, all right," replied the old
sailor, "just fix your eyes on that cloud for a minute."
The boys did as directed, and, sure enough, the island, as they now
knew it, was moving slowly along, doubtless urged by some current of
the ocean.
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