urn and turn until it came away and showed a cavity,
and in this cavity a roll of parchment, and that parchment none other
than this map with the cryptogram, the which I could make nought of.

"Now as I sat thus, studying this meaningless jumble of words, I of a
sudden espied a man below me on the reef, a wild, storm-tossed figure,
his scanty clothing all shreds and tatters, and as he went seeking of
shell-fish that were plenteous enough, I knew him for my sworn comrade,
Nick Frant. And then, Martin, I did strange thing, for blood-brothers
though we were, I made haste (and all of a tremble) to slip back this
map into its hiding-place, which done, I arose, hailing my comrade and
went to meet him joyously enough. And no two men in the world more
rejoiced than we as we clasped hands and embraced each other as only
comrades may. It seemed the hugeous sea that had caught me had caught
him likewise and hurled him, sore bruised, some mile to the south of
the reef. So now I told him of the deaths of Bartlemy and the poor
lady, yet Martin (and this was strange) I spoke nothing of knife or
treasure; I told him of the expectation I had of the pirate's ship
return, and yet I never once spake o' the map and chart. And methinks
the secret cast a shadow betwixt us that grew ever deeper, for as the
days passed and no sail appeared, there came a strangeness, an unlove
betwixt us that grew until one day we fell to open quarrel, disputation
and deadly strife, and the matter no more than a dead man's shirt (and
that ragged) that had come ashore. And we (being in rags and the sun
scorching) each claimed this shirt, and from words came blows. He had
his seaman's knife and I Bartlemy's accursed dagger, and so we fought
after the manner of the buccaneers, his leg bound fast to mine, and
Martin, though he was a great fellow and strong and wounded me sore, in
the end I got in a thrust under the armpit and he fell a-dying, and I
with him. Then I (seeing death in his eyes, Martin) clasped him in my
arms and kissed him and besought him not to die, whereat he smiled.
'Adam!' says he, 'Why Adam, lad--' and so died.

"Then I took that accursed dagger, wet with my comrade's life-blood,
and hurled it from me, and so with many tears and lamentations I
presently buried poor Nick Frant in the sands, and lay there face down
upon his grave wetting it with my tears and groaning there till
nightfall. But all next day, Martin (though my heart yearned t