“Buried aloive!” said Dinny.
“Yes; he has come to. Quick, uncover him!”
“Buried aloive! And it isn’t a did man kicking again’ being disthurbed in his grave!” cried Dinny, changing his tone and springing up. “Howly Pater! why didn’t ye say so before? Here, have him out at wanst!—the poor boy will be smothered wid the sand! Quick, me boy! quick!”
He dashed at the trench again, and Bart seized the head, both lifting together; and then, as the sand streamed away from the canvas cover in which the remains of poor Abel had been wrapped, they both uttered a hoarse cry of horror and stood holding up their ghastly burden as if in a nightmare, terror paralysing them. For they felt that the long wrapper was alive; and from out of holes eaten in it, and dimly-seen in the lantern’s yellow light, dozens of the loathsome land-crabs scuffled quickly out, to keep falling with a heavy pat upon the sand and crawl away; while as their shells rattled and scratched and their claws clinked together, the burden grew rapidly lighter, the movement gradually ceased, and the two men stood at last, icily cold, but with the sweat streaming from them, holding up the old sail containing nothing but the skeleton of the poor fellow they sought.
“Oh, murther!” gasped Dinny at last. “Bart, lad, think o’ that!”
Bart uttered a sound that was more like a groan than an ejaculation; but neither of them moved for some moments.
“What’ll we do now?” said Dinny at last.
Bart did not speak, but he made a movement side wise, which his companion unconsciously imitated, and together they reverently laid the grisly remains in the case, which Bart covered, and then screwed down the lid, for he had come prepared.
“What’ll the captain say?” whispered Dinny, as he held the lantern up for Bart to see the holes made ready for the screws.
Bart turned upon him fiercely.