“Won’t come ashore and attack us, will it?” said Mike.
“No fear. I daresay it would bite, though, if we had it in a corner, and it couldn’t pass. Look! one must have come ashore there.”
He pointed to a smooth channel in the sand, where one of the curious animals had dragged itself a few feet from the water, going back by another way, and so forming a kind of half-moon.
“Let it watch us: it don’t matter,” said Mike. “Come and have a look at the packages.”
They walked up to the pile of kegs, and Vince took one down, to find that it was peculiar in shape and hooped with wood.
“Empty,” he said; “it’s light as can be.”
“Try another,” said Mike; and Vince put the one he held down, and tried one after another—at least a dozen.
“The stuff has all run out or evaporated,” he said. “Hark here!”
He tapped the end of one with his knuckles, but, instead of giving forth a hollow sound, the top sounded dead and dull.
“They’re not empty,” he said, giving one a shake: “they must be packed full of something light. And I say, Mike, they look as if they couldn’t be many years old.”