“I hope Bulk succeeded,” replied Crispin grimly; “but what’s that?”
A dark object was lying on the white beach, and, as they raced up to it, Crispin gave a cry of anguish.
“Why, it’s poor Stokins!” he said, recognizing the features of the mate. “He was in charge of the boat. I’m afraid she was smashed up like the other.”
“And ’ere’s Jimson and Bildge,” cried Gurt, from a distance, where he had discovered two corpses. “They’ve all gone t’ kingdom come, gents!”
“Caliphronas also, I suppose!” said Maurice sadly; for, in spite of his dislike to the wily Greek, it seemed terrible that his joyous youth should be ended so suddenly by the cruel sea.
“It looks as if we were the only survivors,” remarked Crispin moodily, as they resumed their journey. “We must have those poor fellows buried. I will speak to Justinian.”
“Where is Justinian?” asked Maurice a little irritably. “Does he live on this arid peak?”
“Yes; but do not judge by external appearances. This rocky mountain, so sparsely clothed with trees, is only the uninviting shell of a very fine kernel.”
“You speak in riddles.”
“I seem to have been doing that ever since I knew you, judging from your frequent mention of the fact. However, we will soon come to the tunnel, and then you will see.”