"Are there any more of ye?" said the captain.
I answered, "No."
"But what land's this?" he inquired.
"An island uphove by an earthquake," said I.
"Great thunder!" he cried. "And what's that arrangement in shells and weeds atop of it?"
"A vessel that's probably been three hundred years at the bottom,"
I answered.
"The quake rose it, hey?"
"Just as it is," said I.
"Well, boil me," cried the worthy fellow, "if it don't seem too good to be true! Mr. Fletcher, trim sail, sir. Best shove along—shove along. Come, sir, step below with me for a rest and a bite, and give me your tale."
A warily eaten meal with another sup of wine and water made me a new man. We sat below a long while, I telling my story, he making notes and talking of the credit he would get for bringing home a report of a new country, when suddenly the mate put his head into the skylight.