“Well, I’m not goin’ to put up no arguments,” said Ginnell. “I states me terms, and, now that’s fixed, I proposes we takes stock of the cargo. Rig a tackle and get one of them cases on deck and let’s see if the manifest holds when the wrappin’s is off.”
The others agreed. With the help of a couple of the Chinamen from the boat alongside, they rigged a tackle and got out a case. Harman, poking about, produced a chisel and mallet from the hole where the schooner’s carpenter had kept his tools, a strip of boarding was removed from the top of the case, and next moment a champagne bottle, in its straw jacket, was in the hands of Ginnell.
“Packed careful,” said he.
He removed the jacket and the pink tissue paper from the bottle, whose gold capsule glittered delightfully in the sunlight.
Then he knocked the bottle’s head off, and the amber wine creamed out over his hands and onto the deck.
Harman ran to the galley and fetched a pannikin, and they sampled the stuff, and then Blood, taking the half-empty bottle, threw it overboard.
“We don’t want any drinking,” said he; “and we’ll have to account for every bottle. Now, then, get the lid fixed again and the case back in the hold, and let’s see what’s in the lazaret in the way of provisions.”
They got the case back, closed the hatch, and then started on an inspection of the stores, finding plenty of stuff in the way of pork and rice and flour, but no delicacies. There was not an ounce of tea or coffee, no sugar, no tobacco.
“They must have took it all with them when they made off,” said Harman.