"Gosh, but it's queer!" whispered Macro. "Mebbe they're all lying dead in the hold."
"We'll make sure," and they went up on deck again, and with some labour, for the wood had swelled and stuck, got up the main hatch and dropped down into the hold.
But that was bare like the rest. The ship was as empty as a drum.
"Not so much as a rat, b' Gosh!" said the mate, with recovered spirits, seeing no sign of dead men or ghosts.
"What do you make of it?" asked Wulf.
"She's been stripped bare, that's plain. But why, beats me."
"Anyway, there's no objection to our stopping here now, I suppose. Bare bunks will be drier than the sand over there."
"That's so.... And I'm thinking that if we can bring over some of the stuff from that big pile out yonder we can make ourselves mighty comfortable here."
"We can start on that tomorrow. We've done enough for one day."
"We'll make a raft, like old Robinson Crusoe, and bring the stuff right down to the spit yonder," said Macro, waxing quite cheerful at the prospect. "Then we'll make a smaller raft to bring it aboard here."