Anything more barren than this rocky freak of nature it would be difficult to conceive.

Only a few tufts of wild herbs were to be seen upon the whole island, and these seemed to have no _raison d'etre_.
Our explorations were therefore necessarily limited, and in view of the active symptoms of danger that manifested themselves, we could but approve the action of the villagers in abandoning the place; for we entertained no doubt that its destruction was imminent.
These were the circumstances in which I was led to visit Back Cup, and no one will consequently be surprised at the fact that I recognized it immediately we hove in sight of the queer structure.
No, I repeat, the Count d'Artigas would probably not be overpleased if he were aware that Warder Gaydon is perfectly acquainted with this islet, even if the _Ebba_ was to anchor there--which, as there is no port, is, to say the least, extremely improbable.
As we draw nearer, I attentively examine Back Cup.

Not one of its former inhabitants has been induced to return, and, as it is absolutely deserted, I cannot imagine why the schooner should visit the place.
Perhaps, however, the Count d'Artigas and his companions have no intention of landing there.

Even though the _Ebba_ should find temporary shelter between the rocky sides of a narrow creek there is nothing to give ground to the supposition that a wealthy yachtsman would have the remotest idea of fixing upon as his residence an arid cone exposed to all the terrible tempests of the Western Atlantic.

To live hero is all very well for rustic fishermen, but not for the Count d'Artigas, Engineer Serko, Captain Spade and his crew.
Back Cup is now only half a mile off, and the seaweed thrown up on its rocky base is plainly discernible.