“Stiff,” replied Crispin ruefully. “I feel as creaky as an old door!”
“Ain’t used t’ it,” grinned Gurt, shifting his quid; for, during all the trouble and danger, he had retained that as his only solace. “Well, I guess, sirs, we’d best take more rum, an’ then explore this here island.”
“Oh, I know all about it,” said Crispin cheerfully. “But see, the sun is up, so, as it is no use trudging about in wet clothes, we had better dry them.”
The two gentlemen stripped at once, and spread their clothing out to dry on the black rocks; but Gurt, disdaining such luxury, perched himself in a sunny place, and watched them swimming in the shallow waters near shore to refresh their weary limbs. The sun was now considerably above the horizon, burning hotly in a cloudless blue sky, and the sultry rays soon dried the clothes spread out on the rocks, so in a short time they were soon dressed again, and ready to start out in search of Justinian.
True, they were very hungry, but Crispin had some biscuits in his pocket, which appeased their appetites in some measure, and, after a good drink of brandy each, they began to trudge along the stony beach, guided by the poet, to whom every inch of the island was as familiar as his own face. The reddish cliffs and white sand of the beach, catching the hot sunlight, threw out intense heat, and, from being cold, the three adventurers soon became uncomfortably warm.
“Do you think Caliphronas is safe?” asked Maurice hesitatingly, as they walked along.
“Caliphronas has nine lives, like a cat,” retorted Crispin savagely; “but, after his treachery of last night, I hope he will meet the doom he deserves. If it had not been for his cutting that rope, Martin would have been alive now.”
“That is, if the gig reached shore safely.”
“Of course! The sea was wild, and she might have been swamped, like the lifeboat; still, we must hope for the best.”
“I seed Bulk a-chuckin’ of that ’ere gent inter the water,” said Gurt, addressing the air with elaborate indifference.