Her stern, apparently wedged in among a nest of rocks, stood up at a sharp angle, the deck not quite awash but running down into the water swiftly. The aftermast stood a broken stump. At some distance showed the foremast, likewise broken. Dennis turned to Pontifex and the Missus who stood beside him.
"That foremast seems a long distance away," he said. "Doesn't look natural."
"Broke in two," vouchsafed the Missus curtly. Pontifex nodded.
"That's it," he stated with conviction. "Fore part lays in deep water—eight or ten fathom, probably. Look at her stern. See the water a-drip? She's well covered at high tide: just now the tide's out. No wonder she broke!"
"Looks as if we'd anchor right close to her fore-hatch," said the Missus.
Ericksen, with a whaleboat and hand-line, was engaged in taking soundings of the position. Suddenly a savage exclamation escaped Pontifex who had been scrutinizing the visible stern of the wreck through a pair of binoculars.
"Take charge, Mr. Leman," snapped the skipper, then lifted his voice. "Corny! Lower away—four hands will be enough to row us in. Come on, Mr. Dennis!"
As Corny's crew leaped to the falls of a forward boat, Pontifex strode forward, his thin face murderous. Dennis followed him in amazement.
"What's the trouble, Skipper?"
"Come on," responded Pontifex snarlingly. "I'm not sure yet—but if it's true——"