The Globe-republican., 1894-01-12

THE BOOK TREMELED IN HIS HAND.
plumber, upon the queens seaway; all
this which, turned into cash, would
have made a man rich beyond the
dreams of avarice. was the possession
of one who lived like miserly beggar,
grudged himself and his flesh and
blood the common necessaries of life,
and had never been known, from boy
hood upward, to give a starving fellow
creature so much as crust of bread
or to drop penny into the poor box!
o William Jones! o William Jones!
William Jones!
The above reflection belongs, not to
the present writer. but to my adven-
turous discoverer, the captain of the
caravan.
AS Brinkley proceeded on his tour of
inspection he became more and more
struck with wonder. Nothing seemed
too insignificant or too preposterously
useless for secretion in that extraor-
binary ships cavern. There were
mops and brooms, there were holy
stones, there were ''sgueegees," there
were canisters of timed provisions,
there were bags of weevil'd biscuits,
there were sacks of potatoes (Which
esculents, long neglected, had actually
sprouted and put forth leaves), there
were ring bolts, there were tin mugs
and pannikins, and, lastly, mirabile
dictu. there were books-said books
lay piled on the top of a heap of sacks
and were in the last stage of mildew
and decay. For what purpose had
they been carried there? Certainly
not to form library, for William
Jones could not read. AS curiosity
deepened, Brinkley opened some of the
forlorn volumes covered with mildew
and full of hideous crawling things.
Most were in foreign tongues, but
there were several English novels half
a century old, and book of ia
nous Voyages" also in English.
Near to them were some large paper
rolls-ships charts, evidently, and al
most falling to pieces. And on the
top of the charts was \ tiny prayer
book, slime-covered and dripping wet!
What possessed Brinkley to examine
the prayerbook l cannot determine,
but in after years he always averred
that it was an inspiration. At any rate
he did open it, and saw that the fly
leaf was covered with writing, yellow.
difficult to decipher, fast fading away.
But what more particularly attracted
his attention was a loose piece of
parchment. fastened to the title-page
with rusty pin. and covered also with
written characters.
Fixing the candle on nook in the
damp wall he inspected the title-page,
and deciphered these words:
''Christmas-eve, 1864, on board the
ship Trinidad fast breaking up on
the Welsh coast. If any Christian soul
should find this book and these lines
where l place them, if they sink not
with their bearer ION whom leave my
last despairing blessing) to the bottom
mercy should spare and save the little
child" (The book trembled in his
hand as he read. The writing went
on:) 81 cast her adrift in her cradle in
sight of shore, on a little raft made by
my own hands. IT'S desperate hope,
but He can work miracles. and if it is
His will she may be saved. Attached
to this holy book are the proofs of her
poor dead mothers marriage and my
darling's birth. May she live to in
herit my name. Signed, MATTHEW
THORPE Monk, Colonel Fifteenth Cav
airy. Bengal"
The mystery was deepening indeed!
At last Brinkley thrust the book and
its contents into his pocket and, after
one look round, took the candle and
made his way up the rocks and out of
the cave. When he saw the light of
day above him he blew out the light
and crawled up through the aperture.
Then, standing on the lonely sand hill,
he surveyed the scene on every side.
There was no sign of any living soul.
Carefully. but rapidly. he returned
the trapdoor to its place, covered it
with the stones and liberal handfuls OF
loose sand and walked away, taking
care for the first hundred yards to
obliterate his footprints as he went
CHAPTER xL
MYSTERIOUS BEHAVIOR OF THE YOUNG GEN