Now, these mysterious marks were designed by this ancient mariner to represent nothing less than the coasts surrounding the Gulf of St. Lawrence. To an unprejudiced observer, this idea would never have suggested itself; but to the mind of the venerable Corbet, these marks were as plain and as intelligible as the finest outlines of the Admiralty charts engraved in steel, and bristling with names of places. In his mind’s eye he could see everything. He could see Prince Edward’s Island, Cape Breton, Newfoundland, Gaspé, the Bay de Chaleur, Miramichi, and the Magdalen Islands. There, too, full and fair, in the centre of the scene, a big wet spot, made most emphatically with his thumb, showed him the spot where he had left the Petrel. And this was Captain Corbet’s chart, and this was his mode of navigating, and this was the scientific method which he adopted in order to work his way out of a difficulty. Quadrant, sextant, and other instruments of that character he did not need; he trusted to his own head, and to his finger. It must be confessed that, on this occasion, these resources rather failed him. The puzzle seemed insoluble. In vain he obliterated the wet spot where he first stationed the Petrel. In vain he made another dab with his thumb in a second place. He could not arrive at any conclusion which was entirely satisfactory. He placed the mug of water on the table, leaned his aged head in both hands, and sat watching his chart in profound thought. A sudden sea struck the Antelope. The good vessel leaped, as was natural, at such rough treatment. As was natural, also, the mug of water leaped. Moreover, it upset. The contents poured forth, and inundated the fable. The chart was all obliterated. At this casualty Captain Corbet rose. He betrayed no excitement, no passion. He did not swear, as some wrecked sea captains have done. He did not even utter an exclamation. He simply took his aged coat tail and wiped the water off the table very carefully, and then with his other aged coat tail he dried it, and even polished it most elaborately. The table had not been so clean for ever so long. It seemed to be astonished at itself. Captain Corbet, meanwhile, remained mild and patient. Sir Isaac Newton himself, after the burning of his Principia by his immortal little dog Diamond, was not more placid. Without a word, our captain went to the bucket, replenished the mug, returned to the table, resumed his seat, and, holding the mug in his left hand, under the table, to prevent a recurrence of this mishap, he dipped the fore finger of his right hand into the water, and proceeded to retrace upon the table the outline of his chart. In a little while there appeared before his eyes, as plain as before, the Gulf of St. Lawrence, with all the surrounding coasts--Cape Breton, Nova Scotia, New Brunswick, Gaspé, Newfoundland, the Magdalen Islands, and plain in the middle the dab of his venerable thumb representing the spot where he had left the Petrel.