“They’ll have returned Eli to the Victuallin’ Yard before this,” said Bill, gloomily.
“I overheard Wilkins sayin’ as he was to pass over all stores an’ accounts at nine-thirty this mornin’.”
“An’ once there, who knows where he’s got mixed? He’ll go the round of the Fleet, maybe. Oh, my word! an’ the ship that broaches him!”
Bill Adams opened his mouth and shut it, finding no speech; opened it again, and: “They’ll reckon they got a lucky bag,” he said, weakly.
“An’ Wilkins paid off with the rest, an’ no address. Even if he could help, which I doubt.”
“Eh? I got a note from Wilkins, as it happens.” Bill Adams took off his tarpaulin hat and extracted a paper from the lining of the crown. “He passed it down to me this mornin’ as I pushed off from the ship. Said I was to keep it, an’ maybe I’d find it useful. I wondered what he meant at the time, me takin’ no particular truck with pursers ashore. . . . It crossed my mind, as I’d heard he meant to get married, that maybe he wanted me to stand best man at the weddin’. W’ich I didn’ open the note at the time, not likin’ to refuse him after he’d behaved so well to us.”
“Pass it over,” commanded Mr. Jope. He took the paper and unfolded it, but either the light was dim within the store, or the handwriting hard to decipher.
“Would your reverence read it out for us?”
Parson Spettigew carried the paper to the doorway. He read its contents aloud and slowly:
“To Mr. Bill Adams,
Capt. of the Fore-top H.M.S. Vesuvius,
“Sir: It was a dummy Capt. Crang buried. We cast the last E. Tonkin overboard the second night in lat. 46-30, long. 7-15, or thereabouts. By which time the feeling aboard had cooled down and it seemed such a waste of good spirit. The rum you paid for is good rum. Hoping that you and Mr. Jope will find a use for it.
“Your obedient servant,
“S. Wilkins.”