had enough whiskey to make him feel happy. This had probably been the
case with Mr. Burke, and he had gone on shore, and most likely had had
some very happy hours, and had come back without any one knowing where he
had gone. The consequence of this train of thought was that Inkspot
determined that he would go on shore, the next night, and hunt for
whiskey. He could do it quite as well as Mr. Burke had done it, perhaps
even better. But the _Miranda_ did not remain in the cove the next night,
and poor Inkspot looked with longing eyes upon the slowly departing spot
on the sands where he knew the Rackbirds' storehouse was located.

The days and nights went on, and in the course of time the _Miranda_
anchored in the harbor of Valparaiso; and, when this happened, Inkspot
determined that now would be his chance to go on shore and get a good
drink of whiskey--he had money enough for that. He could see the lights
of El Puerto, or the Old Town, glittering and beckoning, and they did
not appear to be very far off. It would be nothing for him to swim as
far as that.

Inkspot went off his watch at midnight, and he went into the water at
fifty minutes to one. He wore nothing but a dark-gray shirt and a pair of
thin trousers, and if any one had seen his head and shoulders, it is not
likely, unless a good light had been turned on them, that they would have
been supposed to be portions of a human form.

Inkspot was very much at home in the water, and he could swim like a dog
or a deer. But it was a long, long swim to those glittering and
beckoning lights. At last, however, he reached a pier, and having rested
himself on the timbers under it, he cautiously climbed to the top. The
pier was deserted, and he walked to the end of it, and entered the town.
He knew nothing of Valparaiso, except that it was a large city where
sailors went, and he was quite sure he could find a shop where they sold
whiskey. Then he would have a glass--perhaps two--perhaps three--after
which he would return to the brig, as Mr. Burke had done. Of course, he
would have to do much more swimming than had been necessary for the
second mate, but then, he believed himself to be a better swimmer than
that gentleman, and he expected to get back a great deal easier than he
came, because the whiskey would make him strong and happy, and he could
play with the waves.

Inkspot did find a shop, and a dirty one it was--but they sold whiskey
inside, and that was enough for him