“What?”
“Don’t you see a line—running along about a mile away?”
“What, a thin, dark line? Yes. What of it?”
“Why, it’s a wier for fish. It shows that people must be living not far from here. It shows, too, that we can get something to eat at low tide, even if there are no people. So, hurrah, boys we’re all right yet.”
“The fact is,” said Bruce, solemnly, “I must confess that I’m starving. I’ve felt the pangs of hunger for the last two hours, and I can’t stand it any longer. I’m going to have a regular rummage down below, for I’m bound to find something.”
All the rest followed Bruce as he went below, and they began to overhaul the whole vessel. For some time they found nothing but a beggarly array of empty boxes, and loud were their murmurs and complaints.
“If it hadn’t been for that miserable Sammy Ram Ram, we’d have a few turkeys and chickens here,” said Bruce. “How that fellow and Johnny Blue managed to get through with them all, I can’t understand.”
“Pooh! those two fellows did nothing else but stuff from the time they came on board till they got to Pratt’s Cove. Captain Corbet and the mate helped them, and so did Pat, too, no doubt. I haven’t any hard feeling against any of them, but I must say I wouldn’t be sorry if their food didn’t agree with them.”
“Hallo! What’s this? Hurrah!” cried Tom, suddenly.
“What, Tom,—what is it?”