“Touch not the letters,” said the captain, trembling as if in an ague fit.
Philip made no reply, but held his hand out for the letters.
“Here is one from our second mate to his wife at Amsterdam who lives on Waser Quay.”
“Waser Quay has long been gone, my good friend; there is now a large dock for ships where it once was,” replied Philip.
“Impossible!” replied the man; “here is another from the boatswain to his father, who lives in the old market-place.”
“The old market-place has long been pulled down, and there now stands a church upon the spot.”
“Impossible!” replied the seaman; “here is another from myself to my sweetheart, Vrow Ketser—with money to buy her a new brooch.”
Philip shook his head. “I remember seeing an old lady of that name buried some thirty years ago.”
“Impossible! I left her young and blooming. Here’s one for the house of Slutz and Company, to whom the ship belongs.”
“There’s no such house now,” replied Philip; “but I have heard that, many years ago, there was a firm of that name.”