The entries were a series of tragedies. Solemnly Jack read them out, picking the more important items:
"Oct. 2nd.—William K. Budd, 1st officer; James Rake, harpooner; John Coffin and Pedro Gonzalez, able seamen, killed by a whale in Lat. 43°25 North, Long. 136°15 East.
"Feb. 16th.—Henry Gaul, cooper, died of scurvy.
"Feb. 23rd.—Simeon Bennett and Henri Rochey, able seamen, died of scurvy.
"May 2nd.—Shut in by pack ice in Lat. 69°12 South, Long. 140°63 West.
"May 15th.—Ezekiel K. Scruggs, 2nd officer, died of scurvy."
So the sad entries ran on until the last, which was entered in a very shaky hand:
"Oct. 3rd.—Only six of ship's company left, including myself; all of us, except two Kanakas, in the last stages of scurvy. Cannot last many more days. Strong westerly winds with snow squalls increasing in force. Unable to take sights. Ship hove-to on port tack."
"That's shore a heap melancholy. I surmise he cashes in poco tiempo after them observations—his luck's that mighty rank, not to say demoniac," was Broncho's comment.
"The first thing we'd better do," said Jack, as he closed the old sharkskin-bound log-book, "is to examine into the provisions. I expect they're liable to be pretty bad."