"I ran to it. Within the stern-board, in cut letters from which the
cheap paint had scaled, was a name plain to read--_Two Brothers_.
Two paddles lay in her, neatly disposed: a short mast and sail
tightly wrapped and traced up in its cordage; her rudder, with
tiller-stick, two rusty rowlocks of galvanised iron, and a tin baler,
all trimly bestowed under the stern-sheets--and that was her
inventory, save a pig of iron ballast, much rusted. How long she had
rested there, clean and tidied, half protected from the sun's rays,
there was no guessing. But her seams gaped so that I could push my
little finger some way between her strakes. She had no anchor; and
her painter had been cut short at the ring, sharply. Only the knot
remained.
"I was examining this when Farrell overtook me. He came over the
rocks, limping; halted; and let out a cry at sight of the boat.
Then, as by chance, he peered into the cleft at his feet, into the
fathom-deep water past which I had run; and, with that, let out a
sharper cry, commanding me to him.
"Down in the transparent water, inert but seeming to move as the
ripple ran over it, lay the body of a man, face down, with a trail of
weed awash over its shoulders.
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