oat he is indeed a fortunate man, for the value of
a trap boat is often greater than a whole season's catch of fish.

So Abel lost no time in hauling in and coiling his jigger line, in
adjusting his oars, and in pulling away toward the derelict with all the
strength his strong arms and sinewy body could muster.

Abel had wished for a good sea boat all his life. When the fishing
schooners now and again of a foggy night anchored behind Itigailit
Island he never failed to examine the fine big trap boats which they
carried. Sometimes he had ventured to inquire how much salt fish they
would accept in exchange for one. But he had never had enough fish, and
his desire to possess a boat seemed little less likely of fulfilment
than that of a boy with a dime in his pocket, covetously contemplating a
gold watch in the shop window.

But here, at last, drifting directly toward him, as though Old Ocean
meant it as a gift, propelled by a gentle breeze and an incoming tide,
came a boat that would cost him nothing but the getting. Fortune was
smiling upon Abel Zachariah this fine August morning.

Now and again as he approached the derelict, Abel rested upon his oars,
that he might turn about for a moment and feast his eyes upon his
prospective prize, and revel in the pleasure of anticipation about to be
realized.

And so, presently, he discovered that the boat was not a trap boat after
all, but a much finer craft than any trap boat he had ever seen. Its
lines were much more graceful, it had recently been painted, and, as it
rose and fell with the swell, a varnished gunwale glistened in the
sunlight. It was fully four fathoms and a half in length, and was
undoubtedly a ship's boat; and, being a ship's boat, was probably built
of hard wood, and therefore vastly superior to the spruce boats of the
fishermen.

Abel had fully satisfied himself upon these points before, keenly
expectant, he at length rowed alongside the derelict. Grasping its
gunwale to steady himself, he was about to step aboard when, with an
exclamation of astonishment and horror, he released his hold upon the
gunwale and resumed his seat in the skiff.

Stretched in the boat lay the body of a man. In the man's side was a
great gaping wound, and his clothing and the boat were spattered and
smeared with blood. The man was dead. In the fixed, cold stare of his
wide-open eyes was a look of hopeless appeal, and the ghastly terror of
one who had beheld some awful vision.