“This is an old chart, and of the date of 1802,” observed Daggett, raising himself erect, as a man who has long been bent takes the creaks out of his back.  “So old a chart as to be of little use now-a-day.  Our sealers have gone over so much of the ground to the southward of the two capes, as to be able to do much better than this now.”

“Your uncle had the appearance of an old-fashioned sailor,” coldly observed the deacon; “and it may be that he most liked old-fashioned charts.”

“If such was the case he must have pretty well forgotten his Vineyard schooling.  There is not a woman there who doesn’t know that the latest chart is commonly the best.  I own I’m disapp’inted somewhat; for the master of the sloop gave me to understand he had heard from the master of the brig, that some valuable information was to be found on the old gentleman’s charts.”

The deacon started, as here was an indication that the deceased had talked of his knowledge to others, as well as to himself!  It was so natural for a man like Daggett to boast of what his charts were worth, that he saw the extreme probability that a difficulty might arise from this source.  It was his cue, however, to remain silent, and let the truth develop itself in due course.  His attention was not likely to be drawn aside by the shirts and old clothes, for the stranger began a second time to examine the chart, and what was more, in the high latitudes at no great distance from the very spot where the sealing-islands had been placed, and from which they had been so carefully erased.

“It is unaccountable that a man should wear out a chart like this, and leave so few notes on it!” said the Vineyard-man, much as one complains of a delinquency.  “Here is white water noted in the middle of the ocean, where I dare say no other white water was seen but that which is made by a fish, and nothing is said of any islands.  What do you think of this, captain Gar’ner?” laying his finger on the precise spot where the deacon had been at work so long that very morning erasing the islands.  “This looks well-fingered, if nothing else, eh?”

“Its a shoal laid down in dirt,” answered Roswell Gardiner, laughing—­“Let’s see; that’s about lat. —­ deg. —­“, and long. —­ deg. —­“.  There can be no known land thereaway, as even captain Cook did not succeed in getting as far south.  That’s been a favourite spot with the skipper for taking hold of his chart.  I’ve known one of those old-fashioned chaps put his hand on a chart, in that way, and never miss his holding ground for three years on a stretch.  Mighty go-by-rule people are some of our whaling-masters, in particular, who think they know the countenances of some of the elderly fish, who are too cunning to let a harpoon get fast to ’em.”

“You’ve been often in them seas, I some think, captain Gar’ner?” said the other, inquiringly.