which all the shadows seemed to listen. The doomed men bowed their heads

around him. The flaming of the torch intensified their pallor. What the

doctor read was written in English. Now and then, when one of those

woebegone looks seemed to ask an explanation, the doctor would stop, to

repeat--whether in French, or Spanish, Basque, or Italian--the passage

he had just read. Stifled sobs and hollow beatings of the breast were

heard. The wreck was sinking more and more.

The reading over, the doctor placed the parchment flat on the companion,

seized his pen, and on a clear margin which he had carefully left at the

bottom of what he had written, he signed himself, GERNARDUS GEESTEMUNDE:

Doctor.

Then, turning towards the others, he said,--

"Come, and sign."

The Basque woman approached, took the pen, and signed herself, ASUNCION.

She handed the pen to the Irish woman, who, not knowing how to write,

made a cross.

The doctor, by the side of this cross, wrote, BARBARA FERMOY, of Tyrrif

Island, in the Hebrides.

Then he handed the pen to the chief of the band.

207

The Man Who Laughs