They were returning not by the path through the bushes, but by the eastern beach. From their left came the crying of the gulls, from their right the cries and shouts of the negroes unlading the last of the boat’s cargo.
The diving apparatus was already ashore, under shelter of a sail stretched between two of the palms; the white sand was strewn with packages and boxes. Sagesse, who thought of everything, was going to run no risks; provisions for three months for the shore party were being landed, for there was always the chance of the vessel being blown off the island and leaving the shore party marooned.
Not only had stores to be landed, but a tent had to be erected to protect them from the sun. This was now being put up.
Two of the crew with cutlasses were slashing a path through the bushes for the men who would have to carry the boat to the lagoon.
As Gaspard and Sagesse watched the busy crowd, Sagesse drew a cigar from his pocket and lit it. Gaspard searched for his pipe in his pocket, found it and filled it; but before he could strike a light a horrible thing happened.
CHAPTER XXXVI
THE SKULLS
One of the negroes, working amidst the bushes, gave a cry, stooped, picked up something, and held it aloft. It was a skull.
“Ma foi!” said Sagesse, taking the arm of Gaspard and leading him towards the spot where the negro stood with the skull still raised in air. “Skeleton Island, as you once called this place, does not seem amiss as a name.”