‘This is the brig Old Stormy,’ said he. ‘Two hundred and twelve tons—cargo consigned to Cape Town—a rich freight!’ he added, whistling low, ‘pianos, pictures, vases, books, furniture, clocks, ornaments, clothes, and linen.’
Then he read out by whom the goods had been shipped, and to whom they were consigned. The name of the master was John Wilson, of the mate William Nash, and W. M. might be the seaman down as William Metcalfe.
The berth opposite had been the mate’s; here was found the vessel’s log-book, from the last entry in which we discovered that the Old Stormy had been abandoned about a fortnight since, a few leagues north of the Equator, so that she had drifted in that time to the southward through several degrees of latitude. This might very well have happened, seeing the canvas she was under. Two berths on the port side were empty, though equipped for use. I mean there were bunks and the other berth furniture. On the starboard side the two cabins abaft the mate’s we found respectively fitted as a store-room and pantry. All the provisions for cabin use appeared to have been stowed in the store-room, and the little pantry was as well-stocked in crockery, glass, and the like as the Childe Harold’s before the convicts broke it up.
This survey was quickly made. Tom said:
‘There’s plenty to eat for four people and good rooms to sleep in. What’ll be the stock of fresh water? That’s next with us, Bates. Then pump her out and whip the quarter-boat aboard.’
‘It’s a solemn and wonderful deliverance,’ exclaimed Mr. Bates.
‘It’s lucky,’ said Tom, coldly. He looked at the mate and burst out fiercely: ‘Get sentenced as an innocent man to the hulks, and all the gratitude you’ll be capable of afterward shall fill the skin of a flea.’ Then controlling himself he added: ‘You’ll have been a reader of the shipping papers in your day, Bates. There’s nothing of the miraculous in the derelict. How many after this and bigger patterns are fallen in within a year?’ He then said to me: ‘Marian, here are your clothes. Which cabin do you choose?’
‘Choose one for me, Tom.’
‘The best,’ said he; and he carried my bundle into the cabin which we had first explored.
I said nothing; his will was my law; he could have broken my heart by a fierce look or an angry speech.