Here the captain took his hand from the bottle for a moment, that the young fisherman might direct a wondering glance at it; and then replaced his hand and went on:—
“If ever you come—or even if ever you don’t come—to a desert place, use you your eyes and your spy-glass well; for the smallest thing you see may prove of use to you; and may have some information or some warning in it. That’s the principle on which I came to see this bottle. I picked up the bottle and ran the boat alongside the island, and made fast and went ashore armed, with a part of my boat’s crew. We found that every scrap of vegetation on the island (I give it you as my opinion, but scant and scrubby at the best of times) had been consumed by fire. As we were making our way, cautiously and toilsomely, over the pulverised embers, one of my people sank into the earth breast-high. He turned pale, and ‘Haul me out smart, shipmates,’ says he, ‘for my feet are among bones.’ We soon got him on his legs again, and then we dug up the spot, and we found that the man was right, and that his feet had been among bones. More than that, they were human bones; though whether the remains of one man, or of two or three men, what with calcination and ashes, and what with a poor practical knowledge of anatomy, I can’t undertake to say. We examined the whole island and made out nothing else, save and except that, from its opposite side, I sighted a considerable tract of land, which land I was able to identify, and according to the bearings of which (not to trouble you with my log) I took a fresh departure. When I got aboard again I opened the bottle, which was oilskin-covered as you see, and glass-stoppered as you see. Inside of it,” pursued the captain, suiting his action to his words, “I found this little crumpled, folded paper, just as you see. Outside of it was written, as you see, these words: ‘Whoever finds this, is solemnly entreated by the dead to convey it unread to Alfred Raybrock, Steepways, North Devon, England.’ A sacred charge,” said the captain, concluding his narrative, “and, Alfred Raybrock, there it is!”
“This is my poor brother’s writing!”
“I suppose so,” said Captain Jorgan. “I’ll take a look out of this little window while you read it.”
“Pray no, sir! I should be hurt. My brother couldn’t know it would fall into such hands as yours.”
The captain sat down again on the foot of the bed, and the young man opened the folded paper with a trembling hand, and spread it on the table. The ragged paper, evidently creased and torn both before and after being written on, was much blotted and stained, and the ink had faded and run, and many words were wanting. What the captain and the young fisherman made out together, after much re-reading and much humouring of the folds of the paper, is given on the next page.
The young fisherman had become more and more agitated, as the writing had become clearer to him. He now left it lying before the captain, over whose shoulder he had been reading it, and dropping into his former seat, leaned forward on the table and laid his face in his hands.
“What, man,” urged the captain, “don’t give in! Be up and doing like a man!”
“It is selfish, I know,—but doing what, doing what?” cried the young fisherman, in complete despair, and stamping his sea-boot on the ground.
“Doing what?” returned the captain. “Something! I’d go down to the little breakwater below yonder, and take a wrench at one of the salt-rusted iron rings there, and either wrench it up by the roots or wrench my teeth out of my head, sooner than I’d do nothing. Nothing!” ejaculated the captain. “Any fool or fainting heart can do that, and nothing can come of nothing,—which was pretended to be found out, I believe, by one of them Latin critters,” said the captain with the deepest disdain; “as if Adam hadn’t found it out, afore ever he so much as named the beasts!”
Yet the captain saw, in spite of his bold words, that there was some greater reason than he yet understood for the young man’s distress. And he eyed him with a sympathising curiosity.
“Come, come!” continued the captain, “Speak out. What is it, boy!”
“You have seen how beautiful she is, sir,” said the young man, looking up for the moment, with a flushed face and rumpled hair.
“Did any man ever say she warn’t beautiful?” retorted the captain. “If so, go and lick him.”
The young man laughed fretfully in spite of himself, and said—
“It’s not that, it’s not that.”
“Wa’al, then, what is it?” said the captain in a more soothing tone.
The young fisherman mournfully composed himself to tell the captain what it was, and began: “We were to have been married next Monday week——”
“Were to have been!” interrupted Captain Jorgan. “And are to be? Hey?”
Young Raybrock shook his head, and traced out with his forefinger the words, “poor father’s five hundred pounds,” in the written paper.
“Go along,” said the captain. “Five hundred pounds? Yes?”
“That sum of money,” pursued the young fisherman, entering with the greatest earnestness on his demonstration, while the captain eyed him with equal earnestness, “was all my late father possessed. When he died, he owed no man more than he left means to pay, but he had been able to lay by only five hundred pounds.”
“Five hundred pounds,” repeated the captain. “Yes?”
“In his lifetime, years before, he had expressly laid the money aside to leave to my mother,—like to settle upon her, if I make myself understood.”
“Yes?”
“He had risked it once—my father put down in writing at that time, respecting the money—and was resolved never to risk it again.”
“Not a spec'lator,” said the captain. “My country wouldn’t have suited him. Yes?”
“My mother has never touched the money till now. And now it was to have been laid out, this very next week, in buying me a handsome share in our neighbouring fishery here, to settle me in life with Kitty.”
The captain’s face fell, and he passed and repassed his sun-browned right hand over his thin hair, in a discomfited manner.
“Kitty’s father has no more than enough to live on, even in the sparing way in which we live about here. He is a kind of bailiff or steward of manor rights here, and they are not much, and it is but a poor little office. He was better off once, and Kitty must never marry to mere drudgery and hard living.”
The captain still sat stroking his thin hair, and looking at the young fisherman.
“I am as certain that my father had no knowledge that any one was wronged as to this money, or that any restitution ought to be made, as I am certain that the sun now shines. But, after this solemn warning from my brother’s grave in the sea, that the money is Stolen Money,” said Young Raybrock, forcing himself to the utterance of the words, “can I doubt it? Can I touch it?”
“About not doubting, I ain’t so sure,” observed the captain; “but about not touching—no—I don’t think you can.”
“See then,” said Young Raybrock, “why I am so grieved. Think of Kitty. Think what I have got to tell her!”
His heart quite failed him again when he had come round to that, and he once more beat his sea-boot softly on the floor. But not for long; he soon began again, in a quietly resolute tone.
“However! Enough of that! You spoke some brave words to me just now, Captain Jorgan, and they shall not be spoken in vain. I have got to do something. What I have got to do, before all other things, is to trace out the meaning of this paper, for the