The climbed the channels, fastened the painter, and peered over the
rail. There was no one in sight, and they sprang down, finding
themselves on a deck that was soft and spongy with time and weather.
"She's an old tub," said Boston, scanning the gray fabric fore and aft;
"one of the first iron ships built, I should think. They housed the
crew under the t'gallant forecastle. See the doors forward, there?
And she has a full-decked cabin--that's old style. Hatches are all
battened down, but I doubt if this tarpaulin holds water." He stepped
on the main hatch, brought his weight on the ball of one foot, and
turned around. The canvas crumbled to threads, showing the wood
beneath. "Let's go below. If there were any Spaniards here they'd
have shown themselves before this." The cabin doors were latched but
not locked, and they opened them.
"Hold on," said the doctor, "this cabin may have been closed for years,
and generated poisonous gases. Open that upper door, Boston."
Boston ran up the shaky poop ladder and opened the companion-way above,
which let a stream of the fresh morning air and sunshine into the
cabin, then, after a moment or two, descended and joined the other, who
had entered from the main-deck.
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