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 in 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 supposed 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. We should
all 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, was this:
{Image of handwritten letter}