It was a signal-staff, with something that looked like a flag hoisted half mast high.
Every heart beat faster, and at once the wildest hopes arose. They hurried on over the rough beach as fast as possible. They clambered over rocks, and sea-weed, and drift-wood, and at length reached the bank. And still, as they drew nearer, the signal-staff rose before them, and the flag at half mast became more and more visible.
Rushing up the bank towards this place, each trying to outstrip the others, they hurried forward, full of hope now that some signs of Tom might be here. At length they reached the place where Tom had been so long, and here their steps were arrested by the scene before them.
On the point arose the signal-staff, with its heavy flag hanging down. The wind was now blowing, but it needed almost a gale to hold out that cumbrous canvas. Close by were the smouldering remains of what had been a huge fire, and all around this were chips and sticks. In the immediate neighborhood were some bark dishes, in some of which were shrimps and mussels. Clams and lobsters lay around, with shells of both.
Not far off was a canvas tent, which looked singularly comfortable and cosy.
Captain Corbet looked at all this, and shook his head.
"Bad—bad—bad," he murmured, in a doleful tone. "My last hope, or, rayther, one of my last hopes, dies away inside of me. This is wuss than findin' a desert place."
"Why? Hasn't he been here? He must have been here," cried Bart. "These are his marks. I dare say he's here now—perhaps asleep—in the camp. I'll go—"
"Don't go—don't—you needn't," said Captain Corbet, with a groan. "You don't understand. It's ben no pore castaway that's come here—no pore driftin lad that fell upon these lone and desolate coasts. No—never did he set foot here. All this is not the work o' shipwracked people. It's some festive picnickers, engaged in whilin away a few pleasant summer days. All around you may perceive the signs of luxoorious feastin. Here you may see all the different kind o' shellfish that the sea produces. Yonder is a luxoorious camp. But don't mind what I say. Go an call the occoopant, an satisfy yourselves."
Captain Corbet walked with the boys over to the tent. His words had thrown a fresh dejection over all. They felt the truth of what he said. These remains spoke not of shipwreck, but of pleasure, and of picnicking. It now only remained to rouse the slumbering owner of the tent, and put the usual questions.