The papers which Ned found proved to be a mass of water-soaked writing in faded ink, consisting of two or three pages.
“Well, they are doubtless very interesting, but unfortunately for us we can’t read them,” exclaimed Ned, in a tone of disappointment, as the bright sunlight fell on the moldy writing.
“Why not?”
“Because it is written in Spanish. Hullo! here’s a signature. Well, we can make that out, anyway. Let’s see, Maritano de Guzman. And look here, Herc, here’s the remains of a seal.”
“Well, what are you going to do with them?” asked Herc curiously. To him the bundle was simply so much old junk. Ned, however, had a dash of the romantic mingled with his intensely practical qualities, and he thrust the papers into his blouse.
“I’ll give them to Lieutenant Timmons, I guess,” he said; “he may be able to understand what all the writing is about. I can’t, and am not going to try to.”
“Who do you suppose Maritano what-you-may-call-um was?” asked Herc.
“Haven’t the faintest idea,” laughed Ned lightly. “Some sea cook, I imagine, for he seemed to have his quarters in the galley.
“Well, come on; we’d better hurry aft. The ensign may want us,” reminded Ned, and hastily the two boys made their way sternward along the bleached decks. It was well they had hastened, for just as they reached the break in the deck marking the rise of the old-fashioned stern-cabin, they heard a voice hailing them. The tones floated up from below, through the broken glass panel of the cabin skylight.