human
Thirteen years! he exclaimed.
gpt
Come now, come, draw it mild, my lad, that won't do at all, you've mistaken the writing somehow. Show us the log book and then we'll believe it.
human
These were the very words, and I'll show you them if--
gpt
What name did you say? Was it Murray?
human
Murray! yes, that was the man who died on New Year's Day.
gpt
Good heavens! exclaimed Peter.
human
Tell me, what was the name of the ship? Did you not find that out?
gpt
Why, yes, Peter, I saw her name. She was called the Pilgrim--of Bristol.
human
Why, what's come ower you, Peter? asked Captain Flett.
gpt
D'ye know the craft?
human
Know her! said Peter;
gpt
I should think I did. She was my own ship. I sailed in the Pilgrim as second mate for three years, and I started with her on that same last voyage.
human
Your ship, Peter!
gpt
Yes, he continued.
human
We sailed out of Bristol in the month of February, 1830, bound for Copenhagen, calling at Iceland. But off the Lewis--or was it Cape Wrath?--I had some o' my bones broken, and they put me ashore at Kirkwall.
gpt
Yes, she called at Kirkwall, I said.
human
I saw that on the chart.
gpt
That was just before I joined the Falcon, captain, continued Peter, turning to Flett.
human
I mind them all, those dead folk, even to the dog that Ericson has told us about--a retriever named Bounce. Our skipper was a Dane named Thomassen, and his wife sailed with us that voyage. She was as fine a woman as ever I see in Denmark. Murray was the first mate, and the man Ericson saw through the porthole can have been none other than Jenkins, the supercargo; he belonged to Bristol. The only thing that puzzles me is the man that Ericson saw lying in the captain's room.
gpt
Maybe he went aboard in Iceland, Peter--a passenger, suggested Flett.
human
Ye canna tell.
gpt
Ay, that'll just be it, mused Peter,