That was all that really was learned, save that some fishing boats, later, had seen pieces of wreckage.
Diligent inquiry in Old Road, and Sandy Point, the two other principal towns, failed to gain further information, and our friends were considering continuing their cruise, when, most unexpectedly, they heard a curious tale that set them, eventually, on the right course.
They were coming down to the dock, one evening to take a boat out to their own craft, when an aged colored man, who spoke fairly good English, accosted them. At first Jack took him for a beggar, and gruffly ordered him away, but the fellow insisted.
"I've got news for you, boss," he said, with a curious British cockney accent. "You lookin' for shipwrecked parties, ain't you?"
"Yes," said Jack, a bit shortly. But that was common news.
"Well, there's an island about fifty miles from here," the black went on, "and there's somethin' bloomin' stringe about it;" for so he pronounced "strange."
"Strange—what do you mean?" asked Walter.
"Just what I says, boss, stringe. If you was to say it'd be worth arf a crown now—"
"Oh, I haven't time to bother with curiosities!" exclaimed Jack, impatiently.
"Let us hear his story, Jack," insisted Cora. "What is it?" she asked, giving him a coin, though not as much as he had asked for.