“Looks like a boat wrecked there!” said Phil.
“It is,” declared Sid. “It’s smashed on the rocks.”
“Let’s take a look,” suggested Frank. “Maybe it’s worth saving.”
“It’s a motor-boat,” said Tom, as they came nearer. “But I guess there isn’t much left of it.”
“And there’s part of the boathouse it was evidently in,” came from Phil. “Probably it was carried away by the flood—boat, boathouse and all, and smashed on these rocks.”
By this time they had brought their boat to the island shore, and, getting out, they examined the wreck. Truly it had been a bad smash. The hull itself could never be used again, and it was a question whether the engine could, as one of the cylinders was badly cracked. The seat lockers had been broken open, and nothing seemed to remain in them.
“Say, this is the same boat that fellow locked in the boathouse, the time we were out rowing when we met the Boxer Hall shell!” cried Tom, as he saw the name on the bow.
“That’s right!” agreed Frank. “The very same. Wallops said some boathouses had been carried away. This must have been one of them.”
“I wonder who owns this boat?” ventured Sid, but no one answered him.
They looked at the wreck for some little time longer, and then started back up the river. They had not gone far from the island before they met a man rowing down in a small boat. He had an anxious look on his face as he hailed them.