ng into the mountain. There was the sound of running water from
within, and the wind howled like a sabbath of witches. We didn't
investigate--no torches. At one end of the beach we found three
springs of hot water squirting out of the rock--tasted sulphurous.

"The beach contained quite a bit of driftage, and some old timbers we
knew were from a wreck. Then, 'way up on the beach, and behind some
big bowlders, we discovered the ribs of a whaleboat, a rust-eaten
sheath-knife, and a board that contained part of a ship's name. The
lettering was almost effaced; we made out the letters LUC-- and beneath
it the word, BEDFORD.

"Well, the discovery of that wreckage told us that we weren't the first
to visit the place. The word 'Bedford' was a good clew--it meant that
a New Bedford whaleship had been there at some time; and the wreckage
meant that she had probably been wrecked upon the reef. There was
nothing else to be found, though we searched for evidences of
castaways. But the wreck had happened a good many years ago, we could
tell from the appearance of the whaleboat's remains, and if there had
been any castaways, all signs of them had disappeared.

"We snooped around a little bit longer, felt a baby earthquake, and
then went back aboard the ship. I marked the location on the chart,
and we squared away for the Kamchatka coast. An hour later, the fog
shut the smoking mountain from our view and from my mind until Little
Billy made his discovery in Honolulu a few months ago.

"Now, Billy, you commence--it is your yarn from now on!"

The captain heaved a contented sigh, settled himself into a listening
attitude, and turned his blind face to the hunchback.

CHAPTER X

THE WHALEMAN'S LOG

"My turn to talk?" exclaimed the lively hunchback. "Fine! Talking is
my favorite sport. But before I commence, I will show friend Blake,
here, Exhibit B."

He reached into the cash-box and drew out a little book. Martin
observed that it was apparently a pocket notebook, a cheap, dog-eared
thing with cracked cardboard covers. Little Billy held it up before
Martin's eyes.

"This is Exhibit B," he continued. "Read this, on the fly-leaf!"

Martin leaned closer and saw written in faded ink on the fly-leaf the
inscription,

John Winters,
His Log.

Bark _Good Luck_ of New Bedford.
1889.

No. 2.

"Ah, I see your mind is leaping to conclusions!" went on Little Billy,
as surmise and understanding fli