But I related my adventure.
I told how David Flett had been knocked overboard, and of the mate
and Jerry leaving me alone on the schooner; of my difficult
navigation of her, and of my discovery of the Pilgrim. Here the
schoolmaster called the magistrate to give attention, and I guessed
that it must be with the ill-fated ship that the mystery was to be
in some way cleared. I told how I saw the supercargo seated at the
table in the cabin, and how I had read the last entry in his log
book.
Andrew Drever opened the book, which was before him, and passed it
to Mr. Duke, saying: "You will observe, sir, that the last date
written here is January, 1831. Thirteen years ago."
"Thirteen years ago!" exclaimed Mr. Duke, turning over the pages.
"Ah! now I begin to see your application. Go on, Halcro."
I then spoke of finding the charts, and described how the Pilgrim
had touched at Kirkwall.
"She called at Kirkwall to put me ashore for hospital," interposed
Peter Brown.
"What!" exclaimed Mr. Duke. "And are you going to say that this
Pilgrim was the vessel in which Mr. Quendale sailed for
Copenhagen?"
"Copenhagen was the port she sailed for--calling at Akureyri, in
Iceland," quietly explained the dominie. "Go on, Halcro."
I then described the captain's room, and told of the man I had seen
lying dead in the sleeping bunk.
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