“But the opening must be there—that is if the yarn about the treasure is true,” declared Jack.
“We’ll have to make a more careful search when we’re coming back,” said Fred.
“Perhaps the opening is behind some of those vines or bushes,” put in Andy.
Having rounded the eastern end of the island, it did not take them long to reach the vicinity of the spot where the Coryanda had been cast up among the rocks. Here were innumerable little keys, and Ira Small rightfully guessed that it was only the force of the hurricane that had driven the water-logged steam yacht in so far and with such dire results.
“She’s busted clean an’ clear,” was the lanky sailor’s comment. “Busted, lengthwise an’ sidewise. They won’t never be able to do a thing with her. She’s gone forever.”
“We’ll have to go slow about going aboard,” said Jack. “No more wild beasts for me!”
“Or snakes, either,” added Fred.
They had brought along the shotguns and pistols, and had seen to it that every weapon was fully loaded. Now, as they came up beside the rocks on which the Coryanda rested, Jack told Fred and Andy to remain at the sweeps while he and Randy and the old sailor held their weapons ready for use should the occasion require.
But all seemed calm and peaceful in the vicinity of the wreck, and, gaining courage, the whole party presently landed, made fast, and mounted to the deck of the old steam yacht at a point close to the cabin.
A glance around showed them that everything was in the wildest disorder. Evidently the water-logged yacht, driven by the hurricane, had pounded on the rocks time and again before some extra large wave had cast her up and broken her into practically four pieces, two forward and two aft. Hatchways and the runway for the animals were wide open, and in one spot they could look down an opening to the very keel of the vessel.