Presently they came to a small stream, which, trickling down the steep hillside, was lost in the sand.
"There'll be no lack of fresh water," exclaimed Andy thankfully, for he knew the value of that precious fluid. "But, I say, isn't everything quiet?" For, save the babbling of the brook and the distant roar of the breakers on the reef, there was an unaccustomed silence. Not a bird sang in the groves, not an animal rustled the thick undergrowth.
"I think we may take it for granted that the island is uninhabited—at least, this part," said Andy, as they completed their walk along the shores of the bay. "Otherwise, there's almost sure to be a beaten track to the shore."
"It doesn't promise much for the boat's crew," answered Ellerton. Then, with an exclamation of surprise, he shouted: "Look! What's that?"
Lying on the sand a few feet from the water's edge was a mournful relic of the unfortunate boat, her back-board bearing the words San Martin. A little farther they found an oar.
"There were two boats, remember," said Ellerton. "And one we know was capsized."
"I vote we explore the next bay," exclaimed Andy. "There's no suitable clearing here for a camp, and felling trees takes time; so let's get back to the boat."
"Well?" asked Mr. McKay on their return.
"We must push off and land on the other side of the cliff," said his son. "There may be a better site for our tent. It's too steep and densely wooded here."
"Any signs of the crew?"