"Ten times over. Where has the water gone?"
We examined the cask carefully. At the bottom was a bunghole in which a bung had been placed; but either the riding of the raft or the shock had loosened the bung, and it had dropped out and allowed the water to run away to the last drop.
"We are done for now!" groaned Phil. "We can't stand it twenty-four hours without something to drink."
"Perhaps we'll have a change in luck before that," said I; but I had my doubts.
The hours that passed after I made the discovery were terrible ones. We suffered intensely from thirst, and I was almost tempted to drink the salt water that surrounded us. Had I done so this tale would probably have never been written.
When the noonday sun shone down upon us we could not stand to be out in it. Phil crawled under the canvas, his eyes rolling strangely.
"Water! water! oh, give me water!" he cried.
I was startled. Was the poor boy going insane?
"Let me wet the canvas," I said. "It will make it cooler."
I did as I suggested, and the cabin boy declared it was much better than before. Then I coaxed him to try to sleep, and at last he fell into a troublesome doze.