“Wait till we find the chest, and you’ll have money enough to buy a shark and keep him as a pet,” suggested Bill.
“And feed him out of your hand,” grinned Ross.
As they drew near the shore, the wreck of the abandoned schooner came clearly into view. It was a dismal spectacle. There was nothing visible above the main deck, not even stumps. The masts 220 had been snapped close to their butts, showing the terrific fury of the gale that had severed them almost as neatly as though done by a razor. There were several yawning rents in the side through which the water poured and retreated. It was evident that the hold must be entirely flooded. The bow was deeply imbedded in the sand, and there was only a slight perceptible motion of the stern, as it swayed and lifted in obedience to the surge of the waves.
The ship seemed at a casual glance to be about eighty feet in length. The beam was comparatively narrow, and the long graceful lines falling away from the bow showed that she had been built for speed. She was of the greyhound type, and this fact only emphasized her present forlorn condition.
Despite the dilapidated condition of the lower part of the hull, the upper part and the deck itself seemed to be fairly solid.
“Good timber in that old boat,” muttered Lester, as they came close, “or she’d have broken up into kindling wood long ago.”
“How are you going to get aboard?” asked Bill.
“By way of the stern, I guess,” Lester replied, as he measured distances. “Of course it would be easier to get over the bow, but we’d have to go pretty close inshore for that, and I don’t know just how deep it is there. I don’t want to take any chances with the Ariel.”
221Fred shortened sail, and they ran in cautiously under the stern. The planks were weatherbeaten, but there were still some vestiges of paint on the upper part, and the boys could clearly make out the name of the unfortunate boat to have been the Albatross.
“Poor old Albatross,” murmured Fred. “Her wings are broken, sure enough.”