"We worked in the quicksilver mines, but left the mines to ship on a guano boat that was going to the Falklands."
"How did you happen to be at Sandy Point?"
"The guano boat proved unseaworthy. Her seams opened in the strait, and while we were feeling our way along toward Sandy Point her boilers blew up. Some of us got ashore and made our way to Sandy Point."
"Then, after that, how did you happen to get wrecked?"
"There was no work for us in Sandy Point, so we hired a small sailboat and were going to the River Plate. The squall struck us, and our boat went over on her beam ends. The owner of the boat was swept into the sea and drowned, but we managed to get on the boat's bottom, and tied ourselves there. We had given ourselves up for lost when you came to our aid. We are grateful to all of you, señors."
There was no reason why Matt and his friends should not believe the Chilian's story, and they accepted it exactly as given.
"Tell them, Glennie," said Matt, "that we are not going into the Atlantic, but around into the Pacific. Ask them what they want to do."
Glennie gave the Chilians the substance of this, and their startled looks aroused Matt's surprise.
"They say," went on Glennie, repeating the spokesman's words, "that they do not want to go to Sandy Point or to any port in Chili. They want to know how far north we are going along the Pacific coast. If we are going as far as Peru they would like to travel with us."
"Dowse me!" muttered Dick. "We haven't room for them aboard. They'd only be under foot, say nothing of consuming our fresh air and making an inroad on the stores."