but not before the survivors, who numbered but ten souls, had rescued
one of the great chests of treasure.

This they buried well up on the island, and for three years they lived
there in constant hope of being rescued.

One by one they sickened and died, until only one man was left, the
writer of the letter.

The men had built a boat from the wreckage of the galleon, but having
no idea where the island was located they had not dared to put to sea.

When all were dead except himself, however, the awful loneliness so
weighed upon the mind of the sole survivor that he could endure it no
longer, and choosing to risk death upon the open sea rather than
madness on the lonely isle, he set sail in his little boat after nearly
a year of solitude.

Fortunately he sailed due north, and within a week was in the track of
the Spanish merchantmen plying between the West Indies and Spain, and
was picked up by one of these vessels homeward bound.

The story he told was merely one of shipwreck in which all but a few
had perished, the balance, except himself, dying after they reached the
island. He did not mention the mutiny or the chest of buried treasure.

The master of the merchantman assured him that from the position at
which they had picked him up, and the prevailing winds for the past
week he could have been on no other island than one of the Cape Verde
group, which lie off the West Coast of Africa in about 16 degrees or 17
degrees north latitude.

His letter described the island minutely, as well as the location of
the treasure, and was accompanied by the crudest, funniest little old
map you ever saw; with trees and rocks all marked by scrawly X's to
show the exact spot where the treasure had been buried.

When papa explained the real nature of the expedition, my heart sank,
for I know so well how visionary and impractical the poor dear has
always been that I feared that he had again been duped; especially when
he told me he had paid a thousand dollars for the letter and map.

To add to my distress, I learned that he had borrowed ten thousand
dollars more from Robert Canler, and had given his notes for the amount.

Mr. Canler had asked for no security, and you know, dearie, what that
will mean for me if papa cannot meet them. Oh, how I detest that man!

We all tried to look on the bright side of things, but Mr. Philander,
and Mr. Clayton--he joined us in London just for the adventure--both
felt as skeptical as I.