I darted for the rail, but Peter stayed me.
"Neen, neen," he objected. "First I get me some pants, Bob. Andt we drop these fellers overboardt."
He was divesting the larger of the two of the single garment each one wore the while he talked, and, conquering an instinctive sensation of repugnance, I did likewise.
"Dot's better, ja," remarked Peter complacently. "A little tight; but I don't like it to be naked, Bob. Neen!"
He rose to his feet, buckling the dead man's belt around him.
"They'll splash!" I warned him as he picked up the big one.
"Nobody hears," he answered.
He lowered the body over the rail feet first, and the splash was less than I had expected. The second body followed with equal expedition, and Peter laid hold of one of several ropes that trailed untidily over the Walrus' side.
"Now we go, Bob," he said.
We entered the water almost together, and swam side by side down the anchorage toward the James. I realized at once that the tide had turned, for the ebb sucked us along at a rate vastly swifter than we could have achieved by our own unaided efforts, although Peter, despite his discomfort at sea, was a remarkably powerful swimmer, thanks to his lifetime in the wilderness country of the frontier.