"Some of the crew have escaped ashore," said Mr. Chalk.
Striking inland, so as to get the shelter of the trees, they made their
way cautiously towards the boat. Colour was lent to Mr. Chalk's surmise
by the fact that it was fairly well laden with stores. As they got near
they saw a couple of small casks which he thought contained water, an
untidy pile of tinned provisions, and two or three bags of biscuit. The
closest search failed to reveal any signs of men, and plucking up courage
they walked boldly down to the boat and stood gazing stupidly at its
contents.
The firearms which Stobell had pitched out of the tent the night before
lay in the bottom, together with boxes of cartridges from the cabin, a
couple of axes, and a pile of clothing, from the top of which Mr.
Tredgold, with a sharp exclamation, snatched a somewhat torn coat and
waistcoat. From the former he drew out a bulky pocketbook, and, opening
it with trembling fingers, hastily inspected the contents.
"The map has gone!" he shouted.
The others stared at him.
"Brisket has gone off with the ship," he continued, with desperate
calmness. "It was the crew of our own schooner that frightened us off
last night.
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