"
The 14th has the following:
"Wrote out story of stranger. See the back of this book."
And at the back of the book, written on paper cut from an old log of the
"Champion," is the story that now, more than twenty-five years later, I
tell you here:
On the evening of the 12th, I went on deck to smoke and think of home,
after a hard day's work getting the engines in shape for a siege. The
ship was very quiet, half the crew being ashore, and some of the rest
having gone in the boat with Captain Enoch to the "Enchantress,"
homeward bound and lying about half a mile below us. I am glad to say
that Enoch's principal business aboard the "Enchantress" is to get me
passage to San Francisco. I despise this kind of dreariness--rather be
in state prison near the folks.
I sat on the rail, just abaft the stack, watching some natives handle
their big canoes, when a smaller one came alongside. I noticed that one
of the occupants lay at full length in the frail craft, but paid little
attention until the canoe touched our side. Then the bundle of skins and
Indian clothes bounded up, almost screamed, "At last!" made a spring at
the stays, missed them, and fell with a loud splash into the water.
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