“I didn’t mean to hurt you,” I found myself whispering.

The lizard raised its snout and sniffed. Then it stared beyond me, inland, and with a wrenching grind the earth beneath my feet rippled and I staggered to catch my balance, cursing. A spray of glowing orange spurted from the peak of the volcano. The ground quivered again, and an unearthly groan traveled through my bare feet to my chest, then my throat, until it vibrated my jaw and my eyeballs in their sockets.

Stone me, this whole island was a volcano! And it didn’t seem to want me here any more than the sky beast did.

When I turned around, the little lizard was stalking away toward the sea. It did not look back.

The ground fell quiet again, but the smoke above the volcano glowed a hellish orange. It was terrible bad luck, to be shipwrecked on an island with a sky beast and a volcano.

I laid my head back on Scratch. “I wonder how fast lava travels,” I said to my waterlogged fiddle.

Was there any chance I would live long enough to find out?

I woke to the deep blue of dawn and rose up on my elbows as I remembered where I was. Dark smoke and white steam had replaced the spitting orange at the volcano summit, and the ground remained steady. No sign of the sky beast. Could I have imagined it? I wished I had.

The sky lightened enough to make out the horizon, and I scanned it for a sign of the Beagle. Nothing, but at least it was calm—good weather for them to search for me. Things always look better in the morning, my da always said.

My stomach groaned. On the Beagle, breakfast was served in the mess at eight o’clock sharp. I wondered if the captain would be planning the search for me with Mr. Darwin and if the men would talk of me between their spoonfuls of hot oatmeal with dollops of the thick sweet molasses we’d bought in Lima. Robbins would be awful grim about losing me off the rowboat. I swallowed down the thought of them.

There was no sign of anything edible on this scrubland. I stood and rubbed my cheek where the damp wood of Scratch’s case had left a clammy cold patch. I still didn’t feel ready to open the case and see the ruined instrument, so I strapped Scratch to my back, which gave me some comfort, and tried to think.

The Galapagos shores were rich with fish and turtles, but I had nothing to catch them with. Mr. Darwin had eaten iguana, but they were not usually considered edible. I could try to make a spear somehow, but without fresh water the salty sea fish would leave me mighty thirsty.

At least the summit of the volcano showed no sign of activity and the sky was clear of flying beasts. I could wait on the shore, but then I’d be in clear view if the beast did come back. I needed a signal, a fire, but for that I’d need wood, and would worry about how to light it later. There wasn’t much choice: I set off inland.