"They're afloat anyway and they'll be better to sleep in than the sandhills."
"Ay—mebbe,—if so be's there's no dead men aboard—or ghosts."
"There's no ghosts anyway. If there are any dead men we'll bury them decently and occupy their bunks."
At which the mate gave a shiver of distaste and chewed on in silence.
"Isn't it possible there's an opening to the sea over yonder?" asked Wulfrey, with an eastward jerk of the head.
"Mebbe, but I don't think it. There's no seaweed here, and no move in the water, and no tide-mark. It's dead level. But what if there is?"
"Why, then they might have got in that way, and then some storm blocked the opening and they couldn't get out."
"Mebbe. We can find out by travelling along yon spit till we get to the end of it. I'd liefer do that than go aboard."
"We'll sleep better on board than on the sand."
"Man, ye don't know what ill things may be aboard yon ships! There's a wrong look about 'em," which was undeniable, but still not enough to commend the chill sand to Wulfrey as a resting-place when shelter and possibly bunks might be had on board.