eagerly for the body of Garwell and for the other small boats. Nothing came to light but the bluish-green and never-quiet sea, which rose and fell to the edge of the horizon.
"I want water," was Captain Kenny's demand, as he roused up while the scanty breakfast was being dealt out.
"Not a drop until you account for Garwell," returned Watt Brown.
"Account for Garwell? What do you mean?"
You know well enough. You heaved the poor man overboard."
"I did not," roared the captain, but his tell-tale face belied his words. "This is a put-up job against me. Give me the water."
A wordy war followed. Captain Kenny would confess nothing, but that he was guilty there could be no doubt. All that the second mate would allow him was one biscuit and half a cupful of the water, now so warm it was scarcely palatable. The captain continued to grumble, but it availed him nothing, and at last he had to stop, for all of us threatened to send him forth as food for the fishes.
The second day was coming to an end when far to the eastward we heard a curious booming sound, not unlike a cannonading at a distance.
"What is that?" I questioned.
