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. I was
about to abandon my search, when I saw something gleaming in the
locker, and reached in and drew it out. It appeared to be an
ordinary white sheet, but its presence there was curious. I turned
the light on it. It was covered with dark-brown stains.

Even now the memory of that sheet turns me ill. I shook it out,
and Mac, at my exclamation, came to me. It was not a sheet at all,
that is, not a whole one. It was a circular piece of white cloth,
on which, in black, were curious marks--a six-pointed star
predominating. There were others--a crescent, a crude attempt to
draw what might be either a dog or a lamb, and a cross. From edge
to edge it was smeared with blood.

Of what followed just after, both McWhirter and I are vague. There
seemed to be, simultaneously, a yell of fury from the rigging
overhead, and the crash of a falling body on the deck near us. Then
we were closing with a kicking, biting, screaming thing, that bore