“All run down through a big hole into the earth, I say,” said a deep voice. “Well, gentlemen, how are you?”
“Ah, Mr Rimmer, good morning,” cried Oliver, shaking hands. “How are your hurts?”
“Oh, better my lad, and yours?”
“Only a bit stiff and achy. But who’s to think of injuries in such a glorious place?”
“Glorious!” said the mate, screwing up his face. “Look about you. Everything’s destroyed.”
“Oh, yes,” said Drew; “but in a month it will be all green again and as beautiful as ever!”
“Except my poor brig,” said the mate. “Why, she’s regularly planted here in the mud and sand, and, unless she strikes root and grows young vessels, she’s done for.”
“But where is the sea?” cried Oliver.
The mate looked round him and then pointed south-west.
“Yonder, if there is any,” he said.