`I now once more attempted to cross the reef by the narrow channel, and happily succeeding, found myself in the open sea, and speeding homewards, joyfully saw our flag flying, and heard the welcome salute you fired.'
Here ended the narrative; but next morning Fritz drew me aside, and confided to me a most remarkable sequel, in these words:
`There was something very extraordinary about that albatross, father. I allowed you to suppose that I left it as it fell, but in reality I raised it to the deck of the canoe, and then perceived a piece of rag wound round one of its legs. This I removed, and, to my utter astonishment, saw English words written on it, which I plainly made out to be "Save an unfortunate Englishwoman from the smoking rock!"
`This little sentence sent a thrill through every nerve: my brain seemed to whirl. I doubted the evidence of my senses.
`"Is this reality, or delusion?" thought I, "Can it be true, that a fellow creature breathes with us the air of this lonely region?"
`I felt stupefied for some minutes: the bird began to show signs of life, which recalled me to myself; and, quickly deciding what must be done, I tore a strip from my handkerchief, on which I traced the words, "Do not despair! Help is near!"
`This I carefully bound round one leg, replacing the rag on the other, and then applied myself to the complete restoration of the bird. It gradually revived; and after drinking a little, surprised me by suddenly rising on the wing, faltering a moment in its flight, and then rapidly disappearing from my view in a westerly direction.
`Now, father, one thought occupies me continually: will my note ever reach this Englishwoman? Shall I be able to find, and to save her?' I listened to this account with feelings of the liveliest interest and astonishment.
`My dear son,' said I, `you have done wisely in confiding to me alone your most exciting discovery. Unless we know more, we must not unsettle the others by speaking of it; for it appears to me quite possible that these words were penned long ago on some distant shore, where, by this time, the unhappy stranger may have perished miserably. By the "smoking rock" must be meant a volcano. There are none here.'
Fritz was not disposed to look at the case from this gloomy point of view; did not think the rag so very old; believed smoke might rise from a rock which was not volcanic; and evidently cherished the hope that he might be able to respond effectually to this touching appeal. I was in reality as anxious as himself on the subject, but judged it prudent to abate rather than excite hopes of success which might be doomed to bitter disappointment.