CHAPTER XIV. 



The Story of Marble Island. 



a desolate grave-yard — monuments with histories — wreck 

 of the " ansel gibbs " — a tale of suffering and death — 

 the loss of six whalers in the welcome — curious ruins 

 — writing on the rocks. 



Alas ! for the crew of the barque " Ansel Gibbs," 

 They were wrecked on a cold, barren shore, 

 Far away in the north where the wind and the sea 

 Chant the songs of the deep evermore. 



RRIVING at this place we were both surprised and disap- 

 pointed. Disappointed at not finding natives or inhabitant 

 of some kind, and surprised at seeing so many indications 

 of the dead. No human form of any kind met our gaze. 

 All was motionless. Over our port bow, on the gravel of the shore, 

 far above high water mark, where patches of grass relieved the dull 

 monotony of the scene, were a small pile of common boards, half-a- 

 dozen barrels, a large tank, a tub, an old rocking-chair, a boat 

 bottom side up, a castaway anchor, a window, and the lumber for a 

 shanty, a hoop jigger, a small stove, and a quantity of material left 

 there by the whalers. Further to the left and directly to the south 

 of us on a high gravel ridge was a string of graves, some twenty in 

 number, marked by large well-formed wooden monuments, crosses 

 and short pieces of boards. The scene about us was singularly im- 

 pressive. In the stillness of the morning, while the sun was yet 

 low in the eastern horizon, bathing the vast sea over which its 

 refreshing rays fell toward the little island, in golden brightness, 

 and before the breeze had yet awakened into life : without the voice 

 of beast or bird, or the breath of life to stir the atmosphere, and ere 



