"What have you done?" I cried, almost delirious.
"Why, plugged up two on 'em. There's only one more," he answered.
"One more what?"
"Leaks—holes—whatever you call 'em."
So saying, he shouldered his way back into the gloom.
It was now all as clear as daylight to me. I waited some minutes, bursting with impatience and anxiety, during which I heard him hammering away like a caulker. My fear was that the men would discover that they had omitted to put a compass in the boats, and that they would return for one. There were other things, too, of which they might perceive the omission, and row to the ship to obtain them before she sank.
Just as I was about to cry out to him to bear a hand, the boatswain's face gleamed under the hatchway.
"Have you done?" I exclaimed.
"Ay, ay."
"Is she tight?"