Steve had left the doors of the low sea hole open, and now he skillfully took the launch through it and into the narrow canal which cut the floor of a large chamber within Azul Island. Now he began moving the wheel often again, and the propeller was reversed to steady the launch and hold it back from sweeping against the wall of stone that suddenly loomed ahead. But Steve Duncan welcomed it, for it had kept all other people away. Like the island itself, the approach foreboded danger. He watched only for the precipitous wall that soon would rise a thousand and more feet above him. No longer could Steve see the dome-shaped top of Azul Island. The engine throbbed noisily as though in protest to the mounting surge of the sea that would hurl it forward too fast. If he heard the heavy thud of waves crashing hard against the wall of stone beyond, it did not seem to frighten him. He took the Sea Queen into the gray mist. In that respect, he did not conform to rule or type or standard. He could have been any average and normal American boy. His black hair was cut short and uncovered. His body was deeply tanned from weeks spent beneath this hot, tropical sun, and the corners of his eyes were cracked with the white lines that come from squinting in the glaring sunlight for hours at a time. His home was in a small city in the United States, and he was on summer vacation from school. He was no experienced mariner, for only recently had he been given the privilege and the responsibility of guiding the Sea Queen between the two islands of Antago and Azul, a distance of more than twenty miles. He piloted his launch in an ever alternating course, but one that took him always closer to the gray mist. He seemed to know this particular area well. He watched the submerged coral slide past to either side of the hull.
He handled the wheel carefully, expertly. They could be heard seconds later crashing against the walled barriers of Azul Island.Ī lone boy guided the motor launch Sea Queen toward the perilous reef, his eyes never leaving the waters directly before him.
Blue waters churned white going over the protective reef that lay a short distance out, then turned black as the waves gathered momentum and height to disappear behind the heavy shroud. Yet its rays could not pierce the mist which hung like a gray veil about the base of this island of stone. It turned the golden, rounded dome of Azul Island into a flaming apparition. It made the open waters of the Caribbean Sea appear more blue than they actually were.
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