I descended to see. By the light-stick we made it out to be a large,
barnacle-crusted cask.
"She's been afloat for forty years," was Mr. Pike's judgment. "Look
at the size of the barnacles, and look at the whiskers."
"And it's full of something," said Mr. Mellaire. "Hope it isn't
water."
I rashly lent a hand when they started to work the cask for'ard,
between seas and taking advantage of the rolls and pitches, to the
shelter under the forecastle-head. As a result, even through my
mittens, I was cut by the sharp edges of broken shell.
"It's liquor of some sort," said the mate, "but we won't risk
broaching it till morning."
"But where did it come from?" I asked.
"Over the side's the only place it could have come from." Mr. Pike
played the light over it. "Look at it! It's been afloat for years
and years."
"The stuff ought to be well-seasoned," commented Mr. Mellaire.
Leaving them to lash the cask securely, I stole along the deck to the
forecastle and peered in. The men, in their headlong flight, had
neglected to close the doors, and the place was afloat.
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