"They're dead ships like all the rest," was the sum of Macro's conclusions. "But how they got there beats me flat." "They're afloat anyway and they'll be better to sleep in than the sandhills." "Ay--mebbe,--if so be's there's no dead men aboard--or ghosts." "There's no ghosts anyway. If there are any dead men we'll bury them decently and occupy their bunks." At which the mate gave a shiver of distaste and chewed on in silence. "Isn't it possible there's an opening to the sea over yonder?" asked Wulfrey, with an eastward jerk of the head. "Mebbe, but I don't think it. There's no seaweed here, and no move in the water, and no tide-mark. It's dead level. But what if there is?" "Why, then they might have got in that way, and then some storm blocked the opening and they couldn't get out." "Mebbe. We can find out by travelling along yon spit till we get to the end of it. I'd liefer do that than go aboard." "We'll sleep better on board than on the sand." "Man, ye don't know what ill things may be aboard yon ships! There's a wrong look about 'em," which was undeniable, but still not enough to commend the chill sand to Wulfrey as a resting-place when shelter and possibly bunks might be had on board. "It seems to me," he said, as they finished their meal, "that it doesn't matter much how they got there. We can perhaps find that out later. There they are, and if they're habitable we want to make use of them. I'm going to swim out to this nearest one and find out what's the matter." "If you go I go," grumbled the mate uncheerfully. "It's evident there's no one aboard or anywhere about, and it's absurd to sit here looking at them," said Wulf, and began to peel off his clothes, which had got almost dry with walking. "No good getting them wet again," he explained. "I've been all of a chill for the last five days. I'll fasten them on to my head." "We'll be coming back." "We might decide to stop there all night. Better take what's left of the meat." "Gosh!" with a perceptible shiver of distaste again. However, he peeled also, and by careful contrivance with belt and braces they bound their bundles on to their heads and stepped into the water. "Phew! It's cold,--colder than the sea," said Wulfrey through tight-set teeth, as they struck out. "'Tis that," and the mate's teeth chittered visibly, between the chill of the water and distaste of the adventure. "Temperature ought to be same ... if sea comes in," sputtered Wulfrey. "'Tisn't, all same. It's cauld as death." They ploughed along till they reached the nearer ship, and swam round it in search of entrance, and failing other means laid hold of the rusty anchor-chain, which peeled in ruddy flakes at their touch. By the time Wulf tumbled in over the bows he was streaked from head to foot with iron-mould, and presented so ghastly an appearance that Macro's jaw fell as he came up the side, and he looked half inclined to drop back into the water.