I judged him to be about
thirty-five years old. Lying on his breast was a thick notebook,
which, on opening the pages, I found to be filled with writing in a
foreign language.
Turning from the bed place I was again attracted by the man's
sparkling ring. I gently opened the hand and drew the ring from the
thin finger, and as I did so a small gold locket dropped from the
hand. It contained the painted portrait of a very beautiful girl
with fair hair and fine blue eyes. I looked in strange admiration
at the face. It had probably been the last object the dead man had
seen. With a feeling of reverence I put the locket back into his
hand. But with feelings that were less reverent I placed the
diamond ring on my own finger, and took possession of the notebook.
These, with the charts and the log book of the man in the after
cabin, I carried on board the Falcon.
That afternoon I chanced to look overboard at the Pilgrim's
waterline. She had sunk at least three more inches. I felt that,
whatever happened to myself and the schooner, the Pilgrim at least
would never again reach port, and I determined to save from the
vessel what articles might be of use to me in case I should be able
to return to land. I therefore went on board again and took
possession of the ship's papers, some firearms and cabin furniture,
a number of English books, and a small chest that I found in the
captain's room.
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