“Of that I have little doubt, should there be actually any land there.  It may be a Cape Fly Away that some fellow has seen in thick weather.  The ocean is full of such islands!”

“This is none of them.  It is bony fidy ’arth, as I know from the man who trod it.  You must take good care, Gar’ner, and not run the schooner on it”—­with a small chuckling laugh, such as a man little accustomed to this species of indulgence uses, when in high good-humour.  “I am not rich enough to buy and fit out Sea Lions for you to cast ’em away.”

“That’s a high latitude, deacon, to carry a craft into.  Cook, himself, fell short of that, somewhat!”

“Never mind Cook—­he was a king’s navigator—­my man was an American sealer; and what he has once seen he knows where to find again.  There are the islands—­three in number and there you will find ’em, with animals on their shores as plenty as clam-shells on the south beach.”

“I hope it may be so.  If land is there, and you’ll risk the schooner, I’ll try to get a look at it.  I shall want you to put it down in black and white, however, that I’m to go as high as this.”

“You shall have any authority a man may ask.  On that point there can be no difficulty between me and you.  The risk of the schooner must be mine of course; but I rely on you to take as good care of her as a man can.  Go then, direct, to that point, and fill up the schooner.  But, Gar’ner, my business doesn’t end with this!  As soon as the schooner is full, you will come to the southward, and get her clear of everything like ice as fast as possible.”

“That I should be very likely to do, deacon, though you had said nothing on the subject.”

“Yes, by all accounts them are stormy seas, and the sooner a body is shut of them the better.  And now, Gar’ner, I must swear you again.  I have another secret to tell you, and an oath must go with each.  Kiss this sacred volume once more, and swear to me never to reveal to another that which I am about to reveal to you, unless it may be in a court of law, and at the command of justice, so help you God.”

“What, a second oath, deacon!—­You are as bad as the custom-houses, which take you on all tacks, and don’t believe you when you’ve done.  Surely, I’m sworn in already.”

“Kiss the book, and swear to what I have put to you,” said the deacon, sternly, “or never go to sea in a craft of mine.  Never to reveal what I shall now tell you, unless compelled by justice, so help you God!”

Thus cornered, Roswell Gardiner hesitated no longer, but swore as required, kissing the book gravely and reverently.  This was the young man’s first command, and he was not going to lose it on account of so small a matter as swearing to keep his owner’s secrets.  Having obtained the pledge, the deacon now produced the second chart, which was made to take the place of the other on the bed.

“There!” he exclaimed, in a sort of triumph—­“that is the real object of your voyage!”