Whether Ned suffered or not he kept to himself, for he resumed his jacket, boots, and belts, clapped on his pith hat, and stalked off with the rest, the way seeming to grow more and more beautiful, and the natural history specimens more attractive at every hundred yards they left behind.
But there was no shooting, the object of the exploration being rigorously kept in mind, and they were just rounding what seemed to be the end of a great artificial dike that ran down from the slope on their right, when one of the men cried—“Look out! They must be close here.” Every one stopped short, and guns and rifles were brought to the ready.
“What is it?” said the captain in a low voice. “What did you see?”
“Didn’t see nothing, sir,” replied the man. “I smelt ’em.”
“What do you mean?”
“Must be some huts or cottages close here, where the people keeps pigs.”
“Yes, look, sir,” cried another man, pointing; “they’ve been down here to the sea.”
He pointed to where, about a dozen yards away, there were abundant traces of a drove of pigs, and as the captain advanced, the odour which the sailor had noticed now became plain to all.
Sir John looked inquiringly at the captain. “A good find,” said the latter, smiling. “We shall be able to shoot some fresh young porkers. Wild pig is not bad.”
“Wild?” cried the doctor.