Nanny shook his head vigorously. Trolley went forward and presently returned with a box he found in the captain’s cabin. Five minutes later a dense smoke was pouring from the after funnel.
“I am afraid it is too late,” remarked Clif, watching the distant speck on the horizon. “That craft is bound south, and we are way to the eastward of her.”
“There is one thing we forgot when we were down aft,” suddenly observed Joy, placing one hand in the region of his fifth button. “We clean forgot the grub.”
“That’s true,” agreed Trolley.
“I won’t go down there if I starve,” came from Nanny, his face paling.
“We will have to do something,” said Clif, decisively. “There must be food on board, and water, too. I saw several boxes and tanks below. I don’t like the shades of departed Frenchmen, but I’ll do a great deal to keep from starving.”
“Suppose we go down and make plenty noise,” suggested Trolley. “We take clubs and—wait a bit.”
He hurried forward, and presently reappeared from the officers’ quarters with one hand clutching a pistol and the other a long, wicked-looking sword. Flourishing the latter, he cried:
“I cut the neck of any ghost now. Come! we march down right away.”