into
an American port we can claim salvage. Key West is the nearest, but
Fernandina is the surest. We've got a stump of a foremast and a rudder
and a compass. If we can get some kind of sail up forward and bring
her 'fore the wind, we can steer any course within thirty degrees of
the wind line."

"But I can't steer. And how long will this voyage take? What will we
eat?"

"Yes, you can steer--good enough. And, of course, it depends on food,
and water, too. We'd better catch some of this that's going to waste."

In what had been the steward's storeroom they found a harness-cask with
bones and dry rust in the bottom. "It's salt meat, I suppose," said
the doctor, "reduced to its elements." With the handles of their
pistols they carefully hammered down the rusty hoops over the shrunken
staves, which were well preserved by the brine they had once held, and
taking the cask on deck, cleaned it thoroughly under the scuppers--or
drain-holes--of the poop, and let it stand under the stream of water to
swell and sweeten itself.

"If we find more casks we'll catch some more," said Boston; "but that
will last us two weeks. Now we'll hunt for her stores. I've eaten
salt-horse twenty years old, but I can't vouch for what we may find
here." They examined all the rooms adjacent to the cabin, but found
nothing.

"Where's the lazarette in this kind of a ship?" asked Boston. "The
cabin runs right aft to the stern. It must be below us." He found
that the carpet was not tacked to the floor, and, raising the after
end, discovered a hatch, or trap-door, which he lifted. Below, when
their eyes were accustomed to the darkness, they saw boxes and
barrels--all covered with the same fine dust which filled the cabin.

"Don't go down there, yet, Boston," said the doctor. "It may be full
of carbonic acid gas. She's been afire, you know. Wait." He tore a
strip from some bedding in one of the rooms, and, lighting one end by
means of a flint and steel which he carried, lowered the smouldering
rag until it rested on the pile below. It did not go out.

"Safe enough, Boston," he remarked. "But you go down; you're younger."

Boston smiled and sprang down on the pile, from which he passed up a
box. "Looks like tinned stuff, Doc. Open it, and I'll look over here."

The doctor smashed the box with his foot, and found, as the other had
thought, that it contained cylindrical cans; but the labels were faded
with age. Opening one