"September 10.--Open water.

"September 23.--A series of storms. How the brig can stand it I can not
see. I remember Potts telling me that she was built of mahogany and
copper-fastened. She does not appear to be much injured. I am
exceedingly weak from want and exposure. It is with difficulty that I
can move about.

"October 2.--Three months adrift. My God have mercy on me, and make
haste to deliver me! A storm is rising. Let all Thy waves and billows
overwhelm me, O Lord!

"October 5.--A terrific storm. Raged three days. The brig has run
aground. It is a low island, with a rock about five miles away. Thank
God, my last hour is at hand. The sea is rushing in with tremendous
violence, hurling sand upon the brig. I shall drift no more. I can
scarcely hold this pen. These are my last words. This is for Ralph
Brandon. My blessing for my loved son. I feel death coming. Whether the
storm takes me or not, I must die.

"Whoever finds this will take it from my hand, and, in the name of God,
I charge him to do my bidding."

This was the last. The concluding pages of the manuscript were scarcely
legible. The entries were meagre and formal, but the hand-writing spoke
of the darkest despair. What agonies had this man not endured during
those three months!

Brandon folded up the manuscript reverentially, and put it into his
pocket. He then went back into the cabin. Taking the bony skeleton hand