“Ay, ay,” said Richard, loosening the rope a little, in order to speak
with greater freedom, and transferring the last morsel of the weed from
his box to his mouth, as he answered; “seeing you are an apt scholar,
no wonder you make it out so easily, though written by a hand that was
always better with a marling-spike than a quill.”
“But whence came the words? and why do you bear those names, thus
written indelibly in the skin? Patience, men! monsters! demons! Would
ye deprive the dying man of even a minute of that precious time which
becomes so dear to all, as life is leaving us?”
“Give yet another minute!” said a deep voice from behind.
“Whence come the words, I ask?” again the chaplain demanded.
“They are neither more nor less than the manner in which a circumstance
was logged, which is now of no consequence, seeing that the cruise is
nearly up with all who are chiefly concerned. The black spoke of the
collar; but, then, he thought I might be staying in port, while he was
drifting between heaven and earth, in search of his last moorings.”
“Is there aught, here, that I should know?” interrupted the eager,
tremulous voice of Mrs Wyllys. “O Merton! why these questions? Has my
yearning been prophetic? Does nature give so mysterious a warning of
its claim!”
“Hush, dearest Madam! your thoughts wander from probabilities, and my
faculties become confused.—‘Ark, of Lynnhaven,’ was the name of an
estate in the islands, belonging to a near and dear friend, and it was
the place where I received, and whence I sent to the main, the precious
trust you confided to my care. But”——
“Say on!” exclaimed the lady, rushing madly in front of Wilder, and
seizing the cord which, a moment before, had been tightened nearly to
his destruction stripping it from his throat, with a sort of
supernatural dexterity: “It was not, then, the name of a ship?”
“A ship! surely not. But what mean these hopes?—these fears?”
“The collar? the collar? speak; what of that collar?”
“It means no great things, now, my Lady,” returned Fid, very coolly
placing himself in the same condition as Wilder, by profiting by the
liberty of his arms, and loosening his own neck from the halter,
notwithstanding a movement made by some of the people to prevent it,
which was, however, staid by a look from their leader’s eyes. “I will
first cast loose this here rope; seeing that it is neither decent, nor
safe, for an ignorant man, like me, to enter into such unknown
navigation, a-head of his officer. The collar was just the necklace of
the dog, which is here to be seen on the arm of poor Guinea, who was,
in most respects, a man for whose equal one might long look in vain.”
“Read it,” said the governess, a film passing before her own eyes;
“read it,” she added, motioning, with a quivering hand, to the divine
to peruse the inscription, that was distinctly legible on the plate of
brass.
“Holy Dispenser of good! what is this I see? ‘Neptune, the property of
Paul de Lacey!’”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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