"The very thing!" said Tom. "Mark me, the treasure's near by—or the ghost wouldn't be so malicious."
And then, looking around where the captain, and the engineer and Silly Theodore lay, I said:
"The first thing we've got to do is to bury these poor fellows; but where," I added, "are the other two that fell in the water?"
"O," said Tom, "a couple of sharks got them just before you woke up."
CHAPTER IX
In Which Tom and I Attend Several Funerals.
When Tom and I came to look over the ground with a view to finding a burial-place for the dead, I realised with grim emphasis the truth of Charlie Webster's remarks—in those snuggery nights that seemed so remote and far away—on the nature of the soil which would have to be gone over in quest of my treasure. No wonder he had spoken of dynamite.
"Why, Tom," I said, "there isn't a wheel-barrow load of real soil in a square mile. We couldn't dig a grave for a dog in stuff like this," and, as I spoke, the pewter-like rock under my feet clanged and echoed with a metallic sound.