--that was from Barbados--I said that though you would receive that
letter long before the year was out, I should be glad if you would open
the packet, as it explained the reason of my going away. Very good, Ned.
When I wrote the second, third, and perhaps the fourth times--that was
from Jamaica--I said I was in just the same state, couldn't rest, and
couldn't come away from that part of the world, without knowing that
my boy was lost or saved. When I wrote next--that, I think, was from
Demerara, wasn't it?'

'That he thinks was from Demerara, warn't it!' said the Captain, looking
hopelessly round.

'I said,' proceeded old Sol, 'that still there was no certain
information got yet. That I found many captains and others, in that part
of the world, who had known me for years, and who assisted me with a
passage here and there, and for whom I was able, now and then, to do a
little in return, in my own craft. That everyone was sorry for me, and
seemed to take a sort of interest in my wanderings; and that I began
to think it would be my fate to cruise about in search of tidings of my
boy, until I died.'

'Began to think as how he was a scientific Flying Dutchman!' said the
Captain, as before, and with great seriousness.

'But when the news come one day, Ned,--that was to Barbados, after I got
back there,--that a China trader home'ard bound had been spoke, that had
my boy aboard, then, Ned, I took passage in the next ship and came home;
arrived at home to-night to find it true, thank God!' said the old man,
devoutly.

The Captain, after bowing his head with great reverence, stared
all round the circle, beginning with Mr Toots, and ending with the
Instrument-maker; then gravely said:

'Sol Gills! The observation as I'm a-going to make is calc'lated to blow
every stitch of sail as you can carry, clean out of the bolt-ropes, and
bring you on your beam ends with a lurch. Not one of them letters was
ever delivered to Ed'ard Cuttle. Not one o' them letters,' repeated the
Captain, to make his declaration the more solemn and impressive, 'was
ever delivered unto Ed'ard Cuttle, Mariner, of England, as lives at home
at ease, and doth improve each shining hour!'

'And posted by my own hand! And directed by my own hand, Number nine
Brig Place!' exclaimed old Sol.

The colour all went out of the Captain's face and all came back again in
a glow.

'What do you mean, Sol Gills, my friend, by Number nine Brig Place?'
inquired the Cap