“Then, my reverend friend,” replied Bickley, “take a couple of the fire buckets and fetch some water from the stream. Also collect driftwood of which there is plenty about, clean those fish and grill them over the saloon stove.” “I’ll try,” said Bastin, “but I never did any cooking before.” “No,” replied Bickley, “on second thoughts I will see to that myself, but you can get the fish ready.” So, with due precautions, Bastin and I fetched water from the stream which we found flowed over the edge of the cliff quite close at hand into a beautiful coral basin that might have been designed for a bath of the nymphs. Indeed one at a time, while the other watched, we undressed and plunged into it, and never was a tub more welcome than after our long days of tempest. Then we returned to find that Bickley had already set the table and was engaged in frying the fish very skilfully on the saloon stove, which proved to be well adapted to the purpose. He was cross, however, when he found that we had bathed and that it was now too late for him to do likewise. While he was cleaning himself as well as he could in his cabin basin and Bastin was boiling water for tea, suddenly I remembered the letter from the Danish mate Jacobsen. Concluding that it might now be opened as we had certainly parted with most of the _Star of the South_ for the last time, I read it. It was as follows: “The reason, honoured Sir, that I am leaving the ship is that on the night I tore up the paper, the spirit controlling the planchette wrote these words: ‘After leaving Samoa the _Star of the South_ will be wrecked in a hurricane and everybody on board drowned except A. B. and B. Get out of her! Get out of her! Don’t be a fool, Jacob, unless you want to come over here at once. Take our advice and get out of her and you will live to be old.—SKOLL.” “Sir, I am not a coward but I know that this will happen, for that spirit which signs itself Skoll never tells a lie. I did try to give the captain a hint to stop at Apia, but he had been drinking and openly cursed me and called me a sneaking cheat. So I am going to run away, of which I am very much ashamed. But I do not wish to be drowned yet as there is a girl whom I want to marry, and my mother I support. You will be safe and I hope you will not think too badly of me.—JACOB JACOBSEN. “_P.S_.—It is an awful thing to know the future. Never try to learn that.” I gave this letter to Bastin and Bickley to read and asked them what they thought of it. “Coincidence,” said Bickley. “The man is a weak-minded idiot and heard in Samoa that they expected a hurricane.” “I think,” chimed in Bastin, “that the devil knows how to look after his own at any rate for a little while. I dare say it would have been much better for him to be drowned.” “At least he is a deserter and failed in his duty. I never wish to hear of him again,” I said.