Wulfrey was wakened by a sharp stab in the neck, and when he sat up with a start a huge cormorant squawked affrightedly at the dead man coming to life again, and flapped away, gibbering curses and leaving a most atrocious stink behind him. The mate was still sleeping soundly, and Wulfrey, for the time being more painfully cognisant of the gnawing emptiness within than of the miracle that permitted him any sensation whatever, sat gazing anxiously about and revolving the primary problem of food. Out there among all that mass of wreckage it would be strange if they could not find something eatable,--cores of flour barrels, perhaps pickled pork, rum almost certainly; and the clammy void inside him craved these things most ardently. But he could not, as yet, imagine himself venturing out there again to get them. Later on perhaps, but for the present the land, such as it was, must provide, for him at all events. He felt that he simply had not the heart or the strength to make the attempt. Let me say at once that the trying of these men, which came upon them presently, was not in the matter of ways and means. It was of the spirit, not of the flesh. But yet it is necessary to show you how they came through these lesser trials of the flesh only to meet the greater trials of the spirit later on. And even these smaller matters are not entirely devoid of interest. Many birds came circling round expectantly, and swooped down towards the dark figures lying in the sand, and went off in shrill amazement when they were denied. And Macro at last stretched and yawned and sat up, staring dazedly at Wulfrey. "Gosh, but I'm hungered," he said at last, as that paramount claim emphasised itself. "Anything to eat?" "I'm wondering. Plenty of birds, and very bad they smell. I've seen nothing else." The mate got up heavily and found himself sore and stiff. He stood looking thoughtfully about him. "What about all that stuff?" and he jerked his head towards the graveyard wreckage. "I couldn't go again yet." "Nor me either.... Ground's higher over yonder," he said. "Let's go and see," and they set off slowly over the sand. The level of high water was thickly strewn with seaweed and small wreckage. The slope of the shore was so long and gentle that no large object could come in unless it were first broken into fragments outside. The mate kicked over the sea-weed and found some which he put into his mouth. "Any good?" asked Wulfrey anxiously, hungrier than ever at sight of the other's working jaws. "Better'n nothing," and he rooted up another piece and handed it over. Wulfrey found it tough and pungent of the sea and, after much chewing, capable of being swallowed, but the most he also could say for it was that it was just that much better than nothing. They each picked up a piece of wood with which to root in the tangle, and, bending and picking and munching, made their way slowly towards the hummocks in front.