'I ain't good at supposing, sir, but I know we 're somewheres on the north coast of New Guinea,' Grinson replied. 'Which I mean to say it's inhabited by cannibals, and I was nearly eat once myself. 'Twas twenty or maybe twenty-one years ago, when----'
'By and by, Grinson,' interrupted Trentham. 'It's a gruesome story, no doubt, and we 'll fumigate it with our last go-to-bed pipe.'
'Just so,' Hoole put in. 'I guess we 'd better explore. It don't feel good on this beach.'
'Certainly. To save time we 'd better split up. You take Grinson and go one way; I 'll go the other with Meek. Whoever sees a way up the cliffs, signal to the others.'
They paired off, and walked in opposite directions along the sand. A line of seaweed some thirty feet from the cliffs indicated high-water mark, and relieved them of any fear of being engulfed by the tide.
Trentham and Meek had struck off to the west, and as they went along they scanned the rugged face of the cliffs for a place where it would be possible to scale them. For nearly half a mile they roamed on in silence; Meek was one of those persons who do not invite conversation. Then, however, the seaman came to a halt.
'I wouldn't swear to it, sir,' he said in his deprecating way, 'but if you 'll slew your eyes a point or two off the cliffs, I do believe you 'll see the stump of a mast.'
He raised his lank hand and pointed.
'That won't help us much,' said Trentham, looking towards a pocket of sand some distance above high-water mark, and surrounded by straggling bushes. 'We can't sail off in a wreck.'
'That's true as gospel, sir, but it came into my mind, like, that where there 's a mast there 's a hull, and p'r'aps it 'll give us a doss-house for the night.'