as we were close upon the beach to the east, he, being about ten paces ahead, stopped abruptly, and summoned us to him by a hurried gesture.
In an instant we were by his side. Hunt had evinced no surprise on the subject of the piece of wood first found, but his attitude changed when he knelt down in front of a worm-eaten plank lying on the sand. He felt it all over with his huge hands, as though he were seeking some tracery on its rough surface whose signification might be intelligible to him. The black paint was hidden under the thick dirt that had accumulated upon it. The plank had probably formed part of a ship's stern, as the boatswain requested us to observe.
"Yes, yes," repeated Captain Len Guy, "it made part of a stern."
Hunt, who still remained kneeling, nodded his big head in assent.
"But," I remarked, "this plank must have been cast upon Bennet Islet from a wreck! The cross-currents must have found it in the open sea, and—"
"If that were so—" cried the captain.
The same thought had occurred to both of us. What was our surprise, indeed our amazement, our unspeakable emotion, when Hunt showed us eight letters cut in the plank, not painted, but hollow and distinctly traceable with the finger.
It was only too easy to recognize the letters of two names, arranged in two lines, thus:
AN
LI.E.PO.L.
The Jane of Liverpool! The schooner commanded by Captain William Guy! What did it matter that time had
