We had, however, no time for reflection, and immediately upon our landing, our attention was turned in another direction by the sight of a boat lying wrecked upon the sand.
"The Halbrane's boat!" cried Hurliguerly. It was indeed the boat which Hearne had stolen, and it was simply smashed to pieces; in a word, only the formless wreckage of a craft which has been flung against rocks by the sea, remained.
We observed immediately that all the ironwork of the boat had disappeared, down to the hinges of the rudder. Not one trace of the metal existed.
What could be the meaning of this?
A loud call from West brought us to a little strip of beach on the right of our stranded boat.
Three corpses lay upon the stony soil, that of Hearne, that of Martin Holt, and that of one of the Falklands men.
Of the thirteen who had gone with the sealing-master, there remained only these three, who had evidently been dead some days.
What had become of the ten missing men? Had their bodies been carried out to sea?
We searched all along the coast, into the creeks, and between the outlying rocks, but in vain. Nothing was to be found, no traces of a camp, not even the vestiges of a landing.
"Their boat," said William Guy, "must have been struck by a drifting iceberg. The rest of Hearne's companions have been drowned, and only these three bodies have come ashore, lifeless."
