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Hunt
,
who
still
remained
kneeling
,
nodded
his
big
head
in
assent
.
“
But
,
”
I
remarked
,
“
this
plank
must
have
been
cast
upon
Bennet
Islet
from
a
wreck
!
The
cross
-
currents
must
have
found
it
in
the
open
sea
,
and
—
”
“
If
that
were
so
—
”
cried
the
captain
.
The
same
thought
had
occurred
to
both
of
us
.
What
was
our
surprise
,
indeed
our
amazement
,
our
unspeakable
emotion
,
when
Hunt
showed
us
eight
letters
cut
in
the
plank
,
not
painted
,
but
hollow
and
distinctly
traceable
with
the
finger
.
It
was
only
too
easy
to
recognize
the
letters
of
two
names
,
arranged
in
two
lines
,
thus
:
AN
LI
.
E
.
PO
.
L
.
The
Jane
of
Liverpool
!
The
schooner
commanded
by
Captain
William
Guy
!
What
did
it
matter
that
time
had
blurred
the
other
letters
?
Did
not
those
suffice
to
tell
the
name
of
the
ship
and
the
port
she
belonged
to
?
The
Jane
of
Liverpool
!
Captain
Len
Guy
had
taken
the
plank
in
his
hands
,
and
now
he
pressed
his
lips
to
it
,
while
tears
fell
from
his
eyes
.
It
was
a
fragment
of
the
Jane
!
I
did
not
utter
a
word
until
the
captain
’
s
emotion
had
subsided
.
As
for
Hunt
,
I
had
never
seen
such
a
lightning
glance
from
his
brilliant
hawk
-
like
eyes
as
he
now
cast
towards
the
southern
horizon
.
