CHAPTER XXI McClintock's island was twelve miles long and eight miles wide, with the shape of an oyster. To-morrow at twelve I'll be with you, Mr. Because every mistake you make, for every new mishap, Joe, I take a finger. Beneath these prints, a cluster of hobnails, driven into the wall, formed certain letters, which, if properly deciphered, produced the words, "Paul Groves, cobler;" and under the name, traced in charcoal, appeared the following record of the poor fellow's fate, "Hung himsel in this rum for luv off licker;" accompanied by a graphic sketch of the unhappy suicide dangling from a beam.
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