They rummaged around, scattering the materials of which the bed was constructed to left and right. Suddenly Tom gave a yell and pounced on something that he had unearthed.
“Why don’t you do as I do, pick things up and look for them afterward?” he said, excitedly.
“What is it? What did you find?” queried Bert, who was more inclined to be sure of his ground before he became enthusiastic. “It looks a good deal like any other old memorandum book, as far as I can see.”
“All right, then, we’ll read it and see what is in it,” replied Tom. “Why, it’s a record of somebody’s life on the island here. I suppose maybe you think that’s nothing to find, huh?”
Without waiting for a reply he started to read the mildewed old book, and Bert and Dick read also, over his shoulder.
The first entry was dated about a month previous to the time of reading, and seemed to be simply a rough jotting down of the important events in the castaway’s life for future reference. There were records of the man, whoever he might be, having found the spring beside which he had built the hut in which they were now standing; of his having erected the rude shelter, and a good many other details.
The three boys read the scribbled account with breathless interest, as Tom turned over page after page. “Come on, skip over to the last page,” said Bert at last, “we can read all this some other time, and I’m crazy to know what happened to the fellow, whoever he is. Maybe he’s written that down, too, since he seems to be so methodical.”
In compliance with this suggestion, Tom turned to the last written page of the note-book, and what the boys read there caused them to gasp. It was scribbled in a manner that indicated furious haste, and read as follows:
“Whoever you are who read this, for heaven’s sake come to my aid, if it is not too late. Last night I was awakened by having my throat grasped in a grip of iron, and before I could even start to struggle I was bound securely. By the light of torches held by my captors I could see that I was captured by a band of black-skinned savages. After securing me beyond any chance of escape, they paid little further attention to me, and held what was apparently a conference regarding my disposal. Finally they made preparations to depart, but first cooked a rude meal and my hands were unbound to enable me to eat. At the first opportunity I scrawled this account, in the hope that some party seeing my signal, might by chance find it, and be able to help me. As the savages travel I will try to leave some trace of our progress, so you can follow us. I only hope—” but here the message ended suddenly, leaving the boys to draw their own conclusions as to the rest of it.