"O George, look here!—look at this!"
With a bound Woodley was at my side; but even then he could not guess the reason for my outcry. There was, after all, little for him to see—merely a letter "L" branded into the water-worn surface of the wood.
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Matter!" I cried. "Don't you see that mark? This is one of the oars from Lewis's boat. O Woodley! can't you guess what's happened? She's capsized, and all those drunken rascals are drowned. I remember now there was a yell as they passed out of the cave, and then silence. I thought they'd gone beyond our hearing, but when they got into the swirl of the backwash at the foot of the cliffs they must have overturned. Lewis himself told me how dangerous it was. It would have been a difficult thing for a sober and experienced crew to get safely out to sea, but with the first bad lurch those madmen would have flung themselves about, and lost their balance in no time."
"It can't have been that," said George, who stood aghast at my suggestion. "Ten men drowned within fifty yards of us, and we none the wiser! No, no, Master Eden; I won't believe it."
"You forget they were all of them drunk," I answered. "Even if any of them had floated for a moment, we weren't likely to hear their stifled cries right back here, and above the noise the wash of the sea was making."
"How d'you know that oar came out of the boat? Its being marked with an 'L' is no proof that it belonged to Lewis."
"You forget I went out in his boat several times last summer, and learned to row. I remember the oar as well as if it was my own; it's got a smaller 'L' carved with a knife just below the button. There, see for yourself."
Still George stood staring at me as though unwilling to be convinced that the worst had happened.
"Look at that keg," I continued, "and see if it isn't the one they took with them in the boat. If so, you'll find the small hole they made with your knife."