I then
took all the papers to my cabin, and locked them up. I give here the
substance of the letter which was to be made public:
Because you know how much I have suffered physically while on board
this ship, and because you have been kind to me, I wish, through
you, to say my last word to the world: though, indeed, this may seem
a strange form for gratitude to take. Dying men, however, make few
apologies, and I shall make none. My existence, as you know, is an
uncertain quantity, and may be cut short at any moment in the
ordinary course of things. But I have no future in the active
concerns of life; no past on which to dwell with satisfaction; no
friends to mourn for my misfortunes in life, nor for my death,
whether it be peaceful or violent; therefore, I have fewer
compunctions in ending a mistaken career and a worthless life.
Some one will profit by my death: who it is matters not, for it is
no friend of mine. My death adjusts a balance, perhaps not nicely,
yet it does it. And this is all I have to say. . . . I am
going. Farewell. . . .
After a brief farewell to me added, there came the subscription "Charles
Boyd;" and that was all.
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