Trask went back and stood in the door while he scanned the shore of the island. The sun had come out of the sea, red and bleary, and from the jungle came the calls of birds and the shrill cry of a parrot evidently in distress about something in the brush.
There was not a sign of the dinghy. The schooner lay still in a pool of colourful water, the coral and weeds on the bottom in plain view, some of the swaying plants magnified by refraction. There was no air stirring, and from the far end of the island a morning haze was rising like smoke from flats which appeared to be salt marshes.
Trask filled the basin at the water butt and washed his sticky face. Doc, who evidently was astir before the cook, became emboldened by the fact that Trask was up, and rattled the dishes in the galley with recklessness. Trask cautioned him when he came out with the cup and proffered the impromptu breakfast.
"Have you heard anything?" he asked, as the steward stood beside him, loath to go back to his duties.
"Me? Lordy, no, Mr. Trask! We been just lak' a buryin' ground! It gives me the creeps to have things so daid."
"Seen anything of the boat?"
"Boat?" Doc rolled his eyes, puzzled.
"Go in and get breakfast," said Trask, passing the cup back, and went along forward to learn what Jarrow had to report.
"Not a sight of 'em," said the captain, who appeared to be as fresh as if he had slept all night.
"That's queer," said Trask. "I thought they'd try to sneak back during the night. What can they be up to? You don't think they've abandoned us entirely?"