“There are two of them!” Vance cried as the little craft rolled shoreward once more.
“Perhaps they ain’t dead!” Ned exclaimed, and the possibility that these apparent corpses might be sufferers to whom life could be restored took from the scene much which had appeared uncanny.
The boys advanced to the very edge of the surf, ready to pull the craft ashore as soon as she should strike the sand, and ten minutes later she was so near that everything on board could be distinctly seen.
There was no longer any hope the occupants were alive.
Neither was it any question as to how they had died.
The interior of the little craft was covered with blood, and several ghastly slashes across the face of one told that it had been a duel to the death.
It was left for Ned to add the crowning horror to this terrible tragedy.
“It’s Captain Bragg and his mate, Mr. Stout!” he cried, and then covered his face with his hands as if unable longer to look upon the horrible scene.
The boys could readily picture all that had taken place on the boat.
The Evening Star had probably been scuttled as agreed upon between the two officers, who had most likely left the sinking brig in a boat by themselves.