“No doubt,” said O’Rook, “they was all starved at sea and throw’d overboard. Come, Mr Luke, let’s bury him; it’s all we can do for him now.”
Saying this, O’Rook threw off his jacket and, with his companion’s assistance, soon scraped a hole in the sand. Into this they were about to lift the skeleton, when they observed that its right hand covered a decayed remnant of rag, under which was seen a glittering substance. It turned out to be the clasp of a notebook, which, however, was so decayed and glued together that it could not be opened. O’Rook therefore wrapped it in his handkerchief and put it in his pocket. Then they buried the skeleton, and rolled a large mass of coral rock upon the grave to mark the spot.
A careful examination was next made of the old boat and the locality around it, but nothing whatever was found to throw light on the fate of the vessel to which the man had belonged.
Returning to the encampment, O’Rook and his companion found their friends busy preparing supper, which consisted of some provisions saved from the raft, and cocoa-nuts.
In a few seconds the whole party was assembled in front of Polly’s bower, listening attentively, while O’Rook described the discovery of the skeleton to the captain, and produced the old notebook. Deep was the interest of every member of that little community as the captain attempted to open the book, and intense was the expression of disappointment on each countenance—especially on that of Polly—when, after a prolonged trial, he utterly failed.
“Let Philosopher Jack try it,” exclaimed Watty Wilkins eagerly.
The captain at once handed the book to Jack with a smile.
“To be sure,” said he, “a philosopher ought to understand the management of books better than a skipper; but when a book is glued hard and fast like that, it may puzzle even a philosopher to master its contents.”
Jack made the attempt, however. He went to work with the calm deliberation of a thorough workman. By the aid of heat and gentle friction and a little moisture, and the judicious use of a penknife, he succeeded at last in opening the book in one or two places. While he was thus engaged, the rest of the party supped and speculated on the probable contents of the book.
“Here is a legible bit at last,” said Jack, “but the writing is very faint. Let me see. It refers to the state of the weather and the wind. The poor man evidently kept a private journal. Ah! here, in the middle of the book, the damp has not had so much effect.”