"The stairs are very narrow,sir,"said Alfred Raybrock to Captain Jorgan.
"Like my cabin-stairs,"returned the captain,"on many a voyage.""And they are rather inconvenient for the head.""If my head can't take care of itself by this time,after all the knocking about the world it has had,"replied the captain,as unconcernedly as if he had no connection with it,"it's not worth looking after."Thus they came into the young fisherman's bedroom,which was as perfectly neat and clean as the shop and parlour below;though it was but a little place,with a sliding window,and a phrenological ceiling expressive of all the peculiarities of the house-roof.Here the captain sat down on the foot of the bed,and glancing at a dreadful libel on Kitty which ornamented the wall,--the production of some wandering limner,whom the captain secretly admired as having studied portraiture from the figure-heads of ships,--motioned to the young man to take the rush-chair on the other side of the small round table.That done,the captain put his hand in the deep breast-pocket of his long-skirted blue coat,and took out of it a strong square case-bottle,--not a large bottle,but such as may be seen in any ordinary ship's medicine-chest.Setting this bottle on the table without removing his hand from it,Captain Jorgan then spake as follows:-"In my last voyage homeward-bound,"said the captain,"and that's the voyage off of which I now come straight,I encountered such weather off the Horn as is not very often met with,even there.Ihave rounded that stormy Cape pretty often,and I believe I first beat about there in the identical storms that blew the Devil's horns and tail off,and led to the horns being worked up into tooth-picks for the plantation overseers in my country,who may be seen (if you travel down South,or away West,fur enough)picking their teeth with 'em,while the whips,made of the tail,flog hard.In this last voyage,homeward-bound for Liverpool from South America,I say to you,my young friend,it blew.Whole measures!No half measures,nor making believe to blow;it blew!Now I warn't blown clean out of the water into the sky,--though I expected to be even that,--but I was blown clean out of my course;and when at last it fell calm,it fell dead calm,and a strong current set one way,day and night,night and day,and I drifted--drifted--drifted--out of all the ordinary tracks and courses of ships,and drifted yet,and yet drifted.It behooves a man who takes charge of fellow-critturs'lives,never to rest from making himself master of his calling.Inever did rest,and consequently I knew pretty well ('specially looking over the side in the dead calm of that strong current)what dangers to expect,and what precautions to take against 'em.In short,we were driving head on to an island.There was no island in the chart,and,therefore,you may say it was ill-manners in the island to be there;I don't dispute its bad breeding,but there it was.Thanks be to Heaven,I was as ready for the island as the island was ready for me.I made it out myself from the masthead,and I got enough way upon her in good time to keep her off.Iordered a boat to be lowered and manned,and went in that boat myself to explore the island.There was a reef outside it,and,floating in a corner of the smooth water within the reef,was a heap of sea-weed,and entangled in that sea-weed was this bottle."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 band 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,Ican't undertake to say.We examined the whole island and made out nothing else,save and except that,from its opposite side,Isighted 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 Iopened 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!"
