Boston ran up the shaky poop ladder and opened the companion-way above, which let a stream of the fresh morning air and sunshine into the cabin, then, after a moment or two, descended and joined the other, who had entered from the main-deck.  They were in an ordinary ship’s cabin, surrounded by staterooms, and with the usual swinging lamp and tray; but the table, chairs, and floor were covered with fine dust.

“Where the deuce do you get so much dust at sea?” coughed the doctor.

“Nobody knows, Doc.  Let’s hunt for the manifest and the articles.  This must have been the skipper’s room.”  They entered the largest stateroom, and Boston opened an old-fashioned desk.  Among the discolored documents it contained, he found one and handed it to the doctor.  “Articles,” he said; “look at it.”  Soon he took out another.  “I’ve got it.  Now we’ll find what she has in her hold, and if it’s worth bothering about.”

“Great Scott!” exclaimed the doctor; “this paper is dated 1844, fifty years ago.”  Boston looked over his shoulder.

“That’s so; she signed her crew at Boston, too.  Where has she been all this time?  Let’s see this one.”

The manifest was short, and stated that her cargo was 3000 barrels of lime, 8000 kids of tallow, and 2500 carboys of acid, 1700 of which were sulphuric, the rest of nitric acid.  “That cargo won’t be much good to us, Doc.  I’d hope to find something we could use.  Let’s find the log-book, and see what happened to her.”  Boston rummaged what seemed to be the first-mate’s room.  “Plenty of duds here,” he said; “but they’re ready to fall to pieces.  Here’s the log.”

He returned with the book, and, seated at the dusty table, they turned the yellow leaves.  “First departure, Highland Light, March 10, 1844,” read Boston.  “We’ll look in the remarks column.”

Nothing but the ordinary incidents of a voyage were found until they reached the date June 1st, where entry was made of the ship being “caught aback” and dismasted off the Cape of Good Hope in a sudden gale.  Then followed daily “remarks” of the southeasterly drift of the ship, the extreme cold (which, with the continuance of the bad weather, prevented saving the wreck for jury-masts), and the fact that no sails were sighted.

June 6th told of her being locked in soft, slushy ice, and still being pressed southward by the never-ending gale; June 10th said that the ice was hard, and at June 15th was the terrible entry:  “Fire in the hold!”

On June 16th was entered this:  “Kept hatches battened down and stopped all air-holes, but the deck is too hot to stand on, and getting hotter.  Crew insist on lowering the boats and pulling them northward over the ice to open water in hopes of being picked up.  Good-bye.”  In the position columns of this date the latitude was given as 62 degrees 44 minutes S. and the longitude as 30 degrees 50 minutes E. There were no more entries.