Toward the end of his watch, he had seen Mr.
Burke climb up the vessel's side as silently as he had gone down it, and
disappear below.
When Inkspot went to his hammock, which he did very shortly afterwards,
he reflected to the best of his ability upon what he had seen. Why did
Mr. Burke slip away from the ship so silently, and come back in the same
way? He must have gone ashore, and why did he want no one to know that he
had gone? He must have gone to do something he ought not to do, and
Inkspot could think of nothing wrong that Mr. Burke would like to do,
except to drink whiskey. Captain Horn was very particular about using
spirits on board, and perhaps Mr. Burke liked whiskey, and could not get
it. Inkspot knew about the storehouse of the Rackbirds, but he did not
know what it had contained, or what had been left there. Maka had said
something about the whiskey having been poured out on the sand, but that
might have been said just to keep people away from the place. If there
were no whiskey there, why did Mr. Burke go on shore?
Now, it so happened that Inkspot knew a good deal about whiskey. Before
he had gone into the service of the Rackbirds, he had, at different
times, been drunk, and he had the liveliest and most pleasant
recollections of these experiences. It had been a long time since he had
had enough whiskey to make him feel happy. This had probably been the
case with Mr.
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