In the centre was an inlaid mother-of-pearl table, and the bulkheads were hung with curios of every description--spears of all shapes and sizes, fantastic-looking bone-studded clubs, various harpoons, some twisted and bent, evidently the relics of by-gone battles, swords of sharks' teeth, ships' models in bottles, specimens of skrimshander, rare shells and Japanese nitchkies in cabinets, carved cocoanuts, feather cloaks and war head-dresses; and last, but not least, some fearfully-grinning Japanese masks. Catching sight of these, Jim gave an exclamation of horror. "Mercy, look at those devil-faces!" he gasped. "Devil-faces--which that ain't no compliment to the devil, an' I reckon he's plumb mortified at sech remyarks. Them feachers is that fearful they're suffeecient to promote silence in a hoot-owl," remarked Broncho solemnly. "This cabin is surely the dime-museum you were talking about," said Jack, with a laugh. "It's shore liable to give a gent who's been some free with the nosepaint the jimjams in a highly variegated form. It would knock him offen his mental reservation quicker'n a bullet out of a Winchester." After searching through the berths, Broncho and Jack managed to find clothes which fitted them; but Jim had to close-reef the legs of his trousers and the ends of his sleeves before he could get his hands and feet to appear. Clad once more in dry raiment, they then made a descent upon the deceased captain's stateroom, and overhauled the log-book. It was a gloomy perusal. They found the statements of the Kanaka Tari to be correct, and the log had been written up to within the last month. The entries were a series of tragedies. Solemnly Jack read them out, picking the more important items: "_Oct. 2nd._--William K. Budd, 1st officer; James Rake, harpooner; John Coffin and Pedro Gonzalez, able seamen, killed by a whale in Lat. 43°25 North, Long. 136°15 East. "_Feb. 16th._--Henry Gaul, cooper, died of scurvy. "_Feb. 23rd._--Simeon Bennett and Henri Rochey, able seamen, died of scurvy. "_May 2nd._--Shut in by pack ice in Lat. 69°12 South, Long. 140°63 West. "_May 15th._--Ezekiel K. Scruggs, 2nd officer, died of scurvy." So the sad entries ran on until the last, which was entered in a very shaky hand: "_Oct. 3rd._--Only six of ship's company left, including myself; all of us, except two Kanakas, in the last stages of scurvy. Cannot last many more days. Strong westerly winds with snow squalls increasing in force. Unable to take sights. Ship hove-to on port tack." "That's shore a heap melancholy. I surmise he cashes in _poco tiempo_ after them observations--his luck's that mighty rank, not to say demoniac," was Broncho's comment. "The first thing we'd better do," said Jack, as he closed the old sharkskin-bound log-book, "is to examine into the provisions. I expect they're liable to be pretty bad."