He, however, rallied, and, with a faint smile, said in a weak voice—
“That was the first cast of the line—there’s very little water—the next heave I shall shoal.”
“You are better now, Murdock,” said Knoulton. “Cheer up, old man.”
“When I first met you,” observed the pirate, “I knew pretty well that you would stick to me till the last, and I am not mistaken—no, not mistaken. Well, you see, my friend, I haven’t known many as I cared about, few of us have. There is something I would say to you before I sink to my last sleep. I said some few days ago that you should have half I possessed. It seemed ridiculous, I dare say, and you did not take much heed of it, but it’s true, nevertheless. You shall be rich, Walter, independent for the remainder of your life. All I have I bequeath to you.”
“All you have?”
“Yes, every stiver. Don’t think I am wandering, I am in my sober senses. My head was never clearer than it is at the present moment. Listen!”
“I am all attention. Proceed!”
“Will, then, mark what I say. On the beach of St. Michael’s, just beyond the rock of Irglas, in a pit six feet deep, ten years ago I hid an iron case containing gold and jewels to a large amount, enough to make us both rich for the remainder of our lives. I shall never live to gain the treasure, but you may and can, if you’ve a mind to do so.”
Knoulton paused, and then added, in a tone of doubt—
“The tale seems scarcely credible, Murdock. You have been a prisoner for more than nine years.”