I was feeling underneath the boat, with a sense of absurdity that
McWhirter put into words. "I only hope," he said, "that the
watchman does not wake up now and see us. He'd be justified in
filling us with lead, or putting us in straitjackets."
But I had discovered something.
"Mac," I said, "some one has been at this boat within the last few
minutes."
"Why?"
"Take your revolver and watch the deck. One of the barecas--"
"What's that?"
"One of the water-barrels has been upset, and the plug is out. It
is leaking into the boat. It is leaking fast, and there's only a
gallon or so in the bottom! Give me the light."
The contents of the boat revealed the truth of what I had said.
The boat was in confusion. Its cover had been thrown back, and tins
of biscuit, bailers, boathooks and extra rowlocks were jumbled
together in confusion. The barecas lay on its side, and its plug
had been either knocked or drawn out.
McWhirter was for turning to inspect the boat; but I ordered him
sternly to watch the deck. He was inclined to laugh at my caution,
which he claimed was a quality in me he had not suspected. He
lounged against the rail near me, and, in spite of his chaff, kept
a keen enough lookout.
The barecas of water were lashed amidships. In the bow and stern
were small air-tight compartments, and in the stern was also a
small locker from which the biscuit tins had been taken.
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