The mutilated corpse was cast into the sea, and sank at once under the surface,—though perhaps never to reach the bottom, for those two ravenous monsters were still hovering around the spot, in greedy expectation of more food for their insatiable stomachs.
The red bilge-water was next baled out of the boat,—the inside timbers cleared of their ensanguined stains, and swilled with clean water from the sea; which was in its turn thrown out, until no trace remained of the frightful objects so lately seen.
A few things that had been found in the boat were permitted to remain: as they might prove of service to the crew coming into possession. Among these there was not a morsel of food, nor a drop of drinking water; but there was the ship’s compass, still in good condition; and the sailor knew that this treasure was too precious to be parted with: as it would enable them to keep to their course under the most clouded skies.
As soon as the gig was ready to receive them, the “stores” of the Catamaran were transferred to it. The cask of water was carefully hoisted aboard the boat,—as also the smaller cask containing the precious “Canary.” The dried fish packed inside the chest, the oars, and other implements were next carried over the “gangway” between the two crafts,—each article being stowed in a proper place within the gig.
There was plenty of room for everything: as the boat was a large one, capable of containing a dozen men; and of course ample for the accommodation of the Catamaran’s crew, with all their impedimenta.
The last transfer made was the mast and sail, which were “unshipped” from the Catamaran to be set up on the gig, and which were just of the right size to suit the latter craft.
There was nothing left upon the raft that could be of any use to them on their boat-voyage; and after the mast and sail had been removed, the Catamaran appeared completely dismantled.
As they undid the lashings,—which during the transfer had confined her to the gig,—a feeling of sadness pervaded the minds of her former crew. They had grown to feel for that embarkation,—frail and grotesque as it was,—a sort of attachment; such as one may have for a loved home. To them it had been a home in the midst of the wilderness of waters; and they could not part from it without a strong feeling of regret.
Perhaps it was partly for this reason they did not at once dip their oars into the water and row away from the raft; though they had another reason for lingering in its proximity.
The mast had to be “stepped” in the gig and the sail bent on to it; and, as it seemed better that these things should be done at once, they at once set about doing them.