Philosopher Jack, Robert Michael Ballantyne [english novels for beginners TXT] 📗

hut on the other side of the bushes--there, you may see the top of it through the leaves."

"Does any one know where Mr Luke is?" asked the captain.

None of those assembled at the bower had seen him for some hours, and Captain Samson was on the point of organising a party to go in search of him, when one of the crew came in from the bush and said he had gone off with Simon O'Rook to the highest point of the low islet, to ascertain if possible its extent.

"He's all right if O'Rook is with him," said the captain to Polly, in confidence, when they went into the bower together; "but he's not to be trusted away by himself. I never saw a man more unfit to look after himself."

"And yet he is a good, kind man, father," said Polly.

"True, quite true, Poll," replied the captain, musingly. "I wonder why it is that some men seem as if they had been meant for women; maybe it is by way of balancing those women who seem to have been meant for men!"

Polly listened to this with a look of grave consideration, but not having formed an opinion on the subject, wisely held her tongue.

Meanwhile O'Rook led his companion towards the highest part of the islet, which, being clear of trees, seemed likely to afford them a good outlook. The sailor was a man of inquiring disposition, and, being of a free-and-easy nature, did not hesitate to speak out his mind on all occasions. After walking beside his tall companion and eyeing his thin figure and sad countenance in silence for some time, he said--

"You're a cadaverous sort o' man, Mr Luke."

"Think so?" said Mr Luke, gently.

"Of course; I can't help thinkin' so, because I see it," returned O'Rook. "Was it a fall, now, w'en you was a babby, that did it, or measles?"

"Neither, that I am aware of," replied Mr Luke, with a good-natured smile; "my father before me was cadaverous."

"Ah!" said O'Rook, with a look of sympathy, as he touched the region of his heart with his left thumb, "p'r'aps it was somethin' o' this sort, eh? I've bin through that myself in the ould country, where as purty a--well, well, it's all over now, but I've a fellow-feelin' for--"

"No," interrupted Mr Luke, with a sigh, "it wasn't a disappointment, it was--oh! what a splendid view!"

They had reached the top of the ridge at the moment, and the view of the verdant islet that burst upon them might well have called forth admiration from men of coarser mould than they.

O'Rook forgot for a few minutes the subject of his curiosity, and compared the prospect to some of the beautiful scenery of Ireland, though there was no resemblance whatever between the two. He soon returned, however, to the previous subject of conversation, but Mr Luke had ceased to be communicative.

"What is that lying on the beach there?" he said, pointing in the direction referred to.

"It's more than I can tell," answered O'Rook; "looks like a boat, don't it?"

"Very," said Mr Luke, "and there is something lying beside it like a man. Come, let's go see."

The two explorers went rapidly down the gentle slope that led to the beach, and soon found that the object in question was indeed a boat, old, rotten, and blistered with the sun. Beside it lay the skeleton of a man, with a few rags of the garments that had once formed its clothing still clinging to it here and there. It was a pitiful sight. Evidently the unfortunate man had been cast away in an open boat, and had been thrown on that beach when too much exhausted to make a last struggle for life, for there was no sign of his having wandered from the boat or cut down bushes, or attempted to make a fire. His strength had apparently enabled him to get out of the boat, that was all, and there he had lain down to die.

For some time the two wanderers stood contemplating the sight in silence, and when at length they spoke it was in low, sad tones.

"Poor, poor fellow," said Mr Luke, "he must have been shipwrecked, like ourselves, and cast adrift in the boat. But I wonder that he is alone; one would expect that some of his comrades must have got into the boat along with him."

"No doubt," said O'Rook, "they was all starved at sea and throw'd overboard. Come, Mr Luke, let's bury him; it's all we can do for him now."

Saying this, O'Rook threw off his jacket and, with his companion's assistance, soon scraped a hole in the sand. Into this they were about to lift the skeleton, when they observed that its right hand covered a decayed remnant of rag, under which was seen a glittering substance. It turned out to be the clasp of a notebook, which, however, was so decayed and glued together that it could not be opened. O'Rook therefore wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then they buried the skeleton, and rolled a large mass of coral rock upon the grave to mark the spot.

A careful examination was next made of the old boat and the locality around it, but nothing whatever was found to throw light on the fate of the vessel to which the man had belonged.

Returning to the encampment, O'Rook and his companion found their friends busy preparing supper, which consisted of some provisions saved from the raft, and cocoa-nuts.

In a few seconds the whole party was assembled in front of Polly's bower, listening attentively, while O'Rook described the discovery of the skeleton to the captain, and produced the old notebook. Deep was the interest of every member of that little community as the captain attempted to open the book, and intense was the expression of disappointment on each countenance--especially on that of Polly--when, after a prolonged trial, he utterly failed.

"Let Philosopher Jack try it," exclaimed Watty Wilkins eagerly.

The captain at once handed the book to Jack with a smile.

"To be sure," said he, "a philosopher ought to understand the management of books better than a skipper; but when a book is glued hard and fast like that, it may puzzle even a philosopher to master its contents."

Jack made the attempt, however. He went to work with the calm deliberation of a thorough workman. By the aid of heat and gentle friction and a little moisture, and the judicious use of a penknife, he succeeded at last in opening the book in one or two places. While he was thus engaged, the rest of the party supped and speculated on the probable contents of the book.

"Here is a legible bit at last," said Jack, "but the writing is very faint. Let me see. It refers to the state of the weather and the wind. The poor man evidently kept a private journal. Ah! here, in the middle of the book, the damp has not had so much effect."

As he turned and separated the leaves with great care, Jack's audience gazed at him intently and forgot supper. At last he began to read:--

"`_Saturday, 4th_.--Have been three weeks now on short allowance. We
are all getting perceptibly weaker. The captain, who is not a strong
man, is sinking. The boat is overcrowded. If a gale should spring up
we shall all perish. I don't like the looks of two of the men. They
are powerful fellows, and the captain and I believe them to be quite
capable of murdering the most of us, and throwing us overboard to save
their own lives.'

"Here there is a blank," said Jack, "and the next date is the 8th, but there is no month or year given. The writing continues:--

"`I scarce know what has passed during the last few days. It is like
a horrible dream. The two men made the attempt, and killed big
George, whom they feared most, because of his courage and known
fidelity to the captain; but, before they could do further mischief,
the second mate shot them both. The boat floats lighter now, and,
through God's mercy, the weather continues fine. Our last ration was
served out this morning--two ounces of biscuit each, and a wine-glass
of water. _Sunday, 11th_.--Two days without food. The captain read
to us to-day some chapters out of the Bible, those describing the
crucifixion of Jesus. Williams and Ranger were deeply impressed, and
for the first time seemed to lament their sins, and to speak of
themselves as crucifiers of Jesus. The captain's voice very weak, but
he is cheerful and resigned. It is evident that _his_ trust is in the
Lord. He exhorts us frequently. We feel the want of water more than
food. _Wednesday_.--The captain and Williams died yesterday. Ranger
drank sea water in desperation. He went mad soon after, and jumped
overboard. We tried to save him, but failed. Only three of us are
left. If we don't meet with a ship, or sight an island, it will soon
be all over with us. _Thursday_.--I am alone now. An island is in
sight, but I can scarcely raise myself to look at it. I will bind
this book to my hand. If any one finds me, let him send it to my
beloved wife, Lucy. It will comfort her to know that my last thoughts
on earth were of her dear self, and that my soul is resting on my
Redeemer. I grow very cold and faint. May God's best blessing
rest--'"

The voice of the reader stopped suddenly, and for some moments there was a solemn silence, broken only by a sob from Polly Samson.

"Why don't you go on?" asked the captain.

"There is nothing more," said Jack sadly. "His strength must have failed him suddenly. It is unfortunate, for, as he has neither signed his name nor given the address of his wife, it will not be possible to fulfil his wishes."

"Maybe," suggested O'Rook, "if you open some more o' the pages you'll find a name somewheres."

Jack searched as well as the condition of the book would admit of and found at last the name of David Ban--, the latter part of the surname being illegible. He also discovered a lump in one place, which, on being cut into, proved to be a lock of golden hair, in perfect preservation. It was evidently that of a young person.

"That's Lucy's hair," said O'Rook promptly. "Blessin's on her poor heart! Give it me, Philosopher Jack, as well as the book. They both belong to me by rights, 'cause I found 'em; an' if ever I set futt in old England again, I'll hunt her up and give 'em to her."