HOME.
As soon as his companions had left him, Stephen went off and brought up as
much dried wood as he could carry, among it a piece of plank that was
almost rotten. This he crumbled up. Then he set the cask of salt junk on
end, and with a heavy piece of rock hammered away until he forced the head
in. Then he took out a good-sized piece of meat and put it into the well.
The water here was constantly changing, a current flowing through it
towards the sea. Then he brought up two or three more loads of wreckage
and sat down under the awning, for it could scarcely be termed a tent, as
both ends were open to allow a free passage for the air. Here he sat for
some hours, occasionally getting up and looking over the sea to the right
and left. It was not until it was nearly noon and the sun was overhead
that he could try the experiment upon which he relied to obtain fire. When
it was nearly vertical he went down to the well, opened his watch-case,
and dipped the glass carefully into the water. He thought of trying to
take it out of the case, but the risk of breaking it would have been too
great. Carrying it very carefully, he went up to the tent again and sat
down beside his little heap of crumbled wood and held the watch-glass full
of water over it.
As he expected he found that it made an admirable burning-glass, its only
drawback being that it was only available when the sun was overhead.
Almost instantaneously as the focus fell upon the wood the latter began to
smoke, and in less than a minute a flame sprang up. Some small splinters
that he had got ready were placed on it, and in a very short time a fire
was blazing. As soon as the wood was well alight he had poured off the
water and very carefully wiped the glass and the rim that held it. He went
a short distance away as soon as the fire was burning well, and was
pleased to find that no smoke was given off, the sun having dried the
wreckage until not the slightest particle of moisture remained in it. He
now kept a sharp look-out along the shore, but it was not until nearly
five o’clock that he saw his companions issue from the trees a mile and a
half away and move along the sand. He went down to the well, took out the
meat, and brought it up and laid it on the rock to dry. He felt sure that
by this time the water would have removed the greater portion of the salt,
and that he would now be able to roast it satisfactorily.
He had already got two forked twigs as a support for his spit, and, taking
the ramrod from the gun, thrust it through the meat. He had ceased putting
on fresh wood the moment he saw the others come from the forest. The fire
soon sank down to a mass of glowing embers, over which he put the meat,
the ends of the ramrod being supported by the forked twigs. He turned it
round and round occasionally to prevent it from burning, and although he
had himself been indifferent as to whether they could obtain means for
cooking the junk, he felt a ravenous appetite as the odour of the meat
rose. Just as he came to the conclusion that the meat must be cooked
through, Wilcox and Joyce arrived. They stopped in amazement as their eyes
fell on the fire.
“Come on, Wilcox,” Stephen said with a laugh. “Don’t stand staring there.
Dinner is ready, and I am only waiting for you to begin.”
“I am downright famished,” the sailor said as he came up. “I would not
have believed it if I had not seen it. How on earth did you manage it?”
“Not by rubbing pieces of wood together, Wilcox, but by filling my
watch-glass with water and using it as a burning-glass; it lit the wood in
less than a minute; only it would not do, you know, unless the sun was
right overhead, and I had to wait until twelve o’clock before I tried the
experiment.”
The meat was cut up into three huge portions, and using biscuits as plates
they speedily set to work upon it.
“You have pretty well got rid of the salt,” Wilcox said after his first
mouthful. “It is well-nigh as good as roast meat. How did you do that,
sir?”
“It was in the well for seven or eight hours,” Stephen replied. “The water
was running through it, so that it was as good as putting it into a river.
Salt meat is best boiled, but as I had no pot to boil it in, I thought I
would try and roast it; and, as you say, the water has got rid of the salt
altogether.”
“It is the best bit of meat that I have eaten since I left England,”
Wilcox said. “Well, I don’t mind now if we stop here for another month. We
have meat and biscuits, and I reckon, Mr. Stephen, that you will be able
to think of some plan for making flap-jacks out of the flour, and we have
found a cocoa-nut grove. So we shall be able to live like kings.”
The next morning Stephen was again left in charge of the fire, and the
other two started to fetch a fresh load of cocoa-nuts, saying that they
should be back by twelve o’clock, and should expect to find that he had
got something new for them. After putting a piece of meat into the well
Stephen made a fresh experiment. Fishing out a great lump of fat from the
cask, he first washed it carefully to get rid of the salt, then put it
into half a cocoa-nut shell, placed this on some hot embers and fried the
fat until most of it melted, and then squeezed the remainder between two
flat stones. Then he poured the fat into another cocoa-nut half full of
milk, put three or four pounds of flour on a flat rock, made a hollow in
the middle as he had seen the servant do at home while making pastry,
poured the liquor gradually into this, mixing it up with the flour until
he had made the whole into dough. Then he cleared away a portion of the
embers, and dividing the dough into flat cakes placed these on the hot
ground. Half an hour later he cleared another space from embers, and
turned the cakes over, and in twenty minutes they were baked through. They
were pronounced excellent by his companions as they ate them with their
meat.
“We must not be too lavish,” Stephen said, “as we do not know how long we
may have to wait here. I propose for breakfast that we have biscuits only,
then for dinner we will have some meat and biscuits again, and for supper
cold meat and cakes. How much meat do you think there is, Wilcox?”
“There is supposed to be a hundred and a half in that cask, Mr. Embleton.”
“Well, that will last us just about a month,” Stephen said, “at a pound
and a half each a day. I propose that we have that allowance for a
fortnight, and if there are no signs of the ship by that time we can then
reduce ourselves to three-quarters of a pound a day. At that rate it will
last for six weeks altogether. The flour and the biscuits would last twice
as long, but we must keep a good stock of them on hand, so as to have a
store if we take to the canoe again.”
This proposal was agreed to. They had, however, been there about a week
when early one morning Joyce discovered a sail far away on the horizon. In
great excitement they hurried down to the canoe, which had been brought
along and hauled up on the rocks.
“Put her into the water to see if the sun has opened her seams.”
Finding that it had done so, they filled her and then hauled her just
beyond the edge of the water. Then they went up to their tent again.
“There ain’t much wind,” the sailor said, “and it will die away altogether
in an hour or two. It is no good our doing anything until we see which way
she is heading. If it is the _Tiger_, I reckon she is making for this
spot, and we can wait till the afternoon anyhow before we take to the
canoe. If it is only a chance ship, and we find she is bearing a course
that brings her anywhere near us, we must take to the canoe at once. I
should say she is a good five-and-twenty miles away, but anyhow we can get
out to her before the evening breeze springs up.”
By nine o’clock they made out that the ship was certainly heading in their
direction. Then the wind left her, and presently they saw her swing
broadside on to them.
“She is very like the _Tiger_,” Joyce said. “She is just about the same
size and barque-rigged, but we cannot see her hull.”
“She is the _Tiger_ sure enough,” Wilcox said. “Her heading this way made
it pretty well certain, but I think I could swear to her now.”
“Well, I vote we start for her at once. What do you say, Stephen?”
“I think so, Tom. Certainly it will be a long row in the heat, but that
does not matter. We had better put a stock of biscuits and cocoa-nuts on
board. One never knows about the weather here, and before night there
might be another cyclone, then she might have to run for it. We should
have to make for the nearest land, and might not be able to get back here
for two or three days.”
As they had eaten their first meal there was no reason for any delay. The
canoe was emptied out, a store sufficient for two or three days put on
board, and they were soon on their way. They took the bearings of the ship
by various points of the island before they started, lest it should come
over thick.
“It ain’t no use hurrying,” Wilcox said as they dipped their paddles in
the water. “We have got a good five hours’ pull before us, and whether it
is five or seven it don’t make much difference.”
They had each cut a square of canvas with which to cover their heads and
shoulders, and at short intervals they dipped these in the sea and so kept
off at least a portion of the extreme heat. The boat was much less heavily
laden than it had been on their previous journey, and went lightly through
the water. In spite of their agreement to take it easy their impatience to
reach the ship, on whose upper sails their eyes were fixed as they
paddled, prevented their doing so, and for the first two hours they rowed
at almost racing pace. Then the heat of the sun began to tell upon them,
their efforts slackened, and their pace decreased materially. However,
they could now make out the line of the hull above the horizon, and knew
that she could not be at most more than some eight miles away, and in
little more than two hours they were within half a mile of her. It was
their old ship the _Tiger_. By this time they could see that they were
objects of eager curiosity on board, and presently they heard loud cheers
come across the water.
“They have made us out,” Joyce said. “Of course, at first they took us for
a native canoe, for they would be looking for the gig. They don’t know yet
what bad news we have to tell them.”
In a few minutes they were alongside, but as soon as they were within hail
the captain had shouted out:
“Are all well?”
“No, sir,” Joyce, who was in the bow, shouted back, “I am sorry to say
that Mr. Towel and the rest have all been killed by the Malays.”
The news effectually damped the feeling of delight that had been excited
on board when it was known that the canoe contained three of the boat’s
party, for whose safety the greatest anxiety had been felt, the captain
alone having entertained any hopes that the gig could have lived through
the storm. However, as they climbed up the ladder to the deck they were
shaken warmly by the hand by officers and crew, and then the captain
requested Joyce and Stephen to come down to his cabin, while Wilcox went
forward to tell the story to the crew. The first and third mates also came
into the cabin. Joyce then, as the senior, told the story of all that had
happened from the time the cyclone had burst upon them.
“You see, sir,” he said when he came to the conclusion, “I owe my life
entirely to Stephen and Wilcox.”
“I see that plainly enough, Mr. Joyce,” the captain said gravely. “They
behaved admirably both in that and in the whole subsequent proceedings.
You were lucky indeed in hitting on the spot where we were separated. We
were four hundred miles away when we got out of the cyclone. The wind has
been very light, and we have gone close to every island we have passed on
our way here. It was, of course, most doubtful whether you would be able
to find the place where the wreck was, for you too might have been carried
hundreds of miles in an entirely different direction, and without your
instruments you would have had but a small chance of discovering your
position or finding your way here. Still, it seemed the only chance. Of
course I could not tell whether when you landed you found the wreck had
been stripped by the natives; but if you had not done so it seemed to me
you would certainly make your way there if you could, for you would know
there were no natives near, and you might, for all I could tell, have
found various stores cast up that would enable you to live for a long
time.
“It has been, as you say, a sad business indeed. Six lives have been lost,
and, as it appears to me from your story, unnecessarily; it was a grievous
mistake going up that river. I can understand Mr. Towel’s anxiety to
obtain a stock of provisions of some sort to victual the boat for a long
cruise, but he should have endeavoured to ascertain first, by following
the bank on foot, whether there were any native villages there before
venturing up in the boat; and to fire guns until he had ascertained that
there were no enemy near, is another instance of that fatal carelessness
that costs so many lives. However, the poor fellow of course acted for the
best, and he has paid dearly for his error. That expedient of yours for
lighting a fire, Steve, was a very ingenious one, and does you a great
deal of credit. I don’t think that it would have occurred to me.
Altogether, young gentlemen, you seem to have behaved extremely prudently
and well. I am sorry to tell you that your comrade Archer was washed
overboard in the cyclone, and two of the men were killed by being struck
by a spar that got adrift.”
The news of Archer’s death greatly destroyed the pleasure of the lads at
finding themselves safely on board the _Tiger_ again, and they took up
their work with very sorrowful hearts.
For another two months the _Tiger_ continued her cruise among the islands
without any adventure occurring. By the end of that time they had disposed
of their goods and had taken in a large number of the native productions
in exchange, and the ship’s course was laid north again for Calcutta,
where they filled up with Indian produce and then sailed for home.
Five months later they arrived in the Thames, the only bad weather they
had encountered being a storm as they entered the Channel. They anchored
at Gravesend, and the captain told Stephen to land and take a post-chaise
up to London, and report to Mr. Hewson that the _Tiger_ would come up on
the tide next morning. It was eight o’clock in the evening when Stephen
arrived at his employer’s. Mr. Hewson received him with great kindness.
“I am always very glad when I hear that one of my ships is safe in port,”
he said; “for however great my confidence, there are times when human
skill and strength are of no avail. I did not expect that the _Tiger_
would be back for another month or so, and am heartily glad to hear that
she has returned. All has gone well, I hope?”
“I am sorry to say, sir, that we have lost altogether nine lives,
including those of Mr. Towel, the second officer, and Archer, my fellow
apprentice.”
“That is bad indeed,” Mr. Hewson said in a tone of great concern. “How did
it happen?”
Stephen related briefly the events that had brought about the misfortunes.
“I am sorry indeed,” Mr. Hewson said he had concluded; “but it is a
consolation to me that none of the lives were lost from any deficiency in
the ship’s gear or appointments. The boat must have been an excellent one
indeed to have carried you in safety through a cyclone, in which, as we
know, the stoutest ships will sometimes founder. As to the accident on
board, it was one of those things that too often occur in a heavy gale,
and that cannot be provided against. Of course, I shall hear from the
captain all details of that affair. As to your adventure on shore, you
must give me a much fuller account when you have had some supper. I shall
release you at once from duty, and you had better go down by the coach
to-morrow morning to Dover. I know that your father is anxious to see you.
He wrote to me about three weeks ago, asking me when I expected the
_Tiger_ to be home. I know what his reason is, but I think that he would
wish to be the first to speak to you about it himself.”
“There is nothing wrong, sir, I hope?”
“No, lad, in no way. It is another matter altogether.”
Supper was brought up, and Stephen did full justice to it, for the ship
had touched nowhere on her way home from Calcutta, and after feeding so
long almost entirely on salt meat, he thoroughly enjoyed the change of
fresh provisions. The next morning he started by the seven-o’clock coach
for Dover, and arrived there at eight that evening.
“You have grown indeed, Stephen!” his father said after the first
delighted greetings were over. “Let me think. You have been away nearly
eighteen months. That does make a good deal of difference; still, you have
grown more than I should have expected. I used to think that you would be
rather short, but now you bid fair to be a good average height, and you
have widened out amazingly. Where are your traps, lad? Have you ordered
them to be sent up from the coach office?”
“I have not brought any down with me, father. The _Tiger_ only got to
Gravesend at five o’clock yesterday afternoon, and the captain sent me up
by post-chaise to tell Mr. Hewson that she was in. I got to his place at
eight, and he told me that I had better start by this morning’s coach, as
he knew that you were anxious to see me.”
“He didn’t tell you what for, Stephen?”
“No, sir. He said that he thought that you would prefer to tell me
yourself.”
“Well, Stephen, I have been anxious for you to get home, for I had a
letter from Lord Cochrane about three weeks ago. He told me that he had
not forgotten the promise he had made me, to give you a berth if he ever
had a chance. He said that the opportunity had come now, for that he had
been offered the command of the Chilian navy, and should be shortly
starting—as soon, in fact, as he could make his arrangements and get his
house off his hands. He said that he thought it would be five or six weeks
before he was able to sail, and that he would take you out with him as his
flag-midshipman. Of course I wrote to him at once, saying where you were,
and that you might be home any day, but that, on the other hand, you might
not be back for two or three months. However, if you arrived in time I was
sure that you would be delighted at the chance of serving under him; still
I said that of course I could not ask him to keep the berth open for you.
Well, he wrote in reply that he would, at any rate, give me a month, but
if at the end of that time I had not heard of you, he must appoint some
one else; for, as he said, ‘I know nothing of the Chilian language, and of
course I shall want some one to blow up in English.’”
Stephen laughed. “That would be splendid, father. I have been very happy
on board the _Tiger_, and certainly should not like to leave her to sail
on any other trading ship. No one could be kinder than the captain and the
mates have been. But of course I should like awfully to serve with Lord
Cochrane, especially as I have heard so much of him from you. But why have
the Chilians appointed a foreigner to command their fleet? Are they
fighting with anyone?”
“They are fighting the Spanish, Stephen. They have gone into the war to
aid Peru, or rather to free Peru from her oppressors. The Chilians have
only just started a navy of their own, and it is altogether outnumbered by
the Spanish; but they wisely think that with such a man as Cochrane, who
is a host in himself, who has won against much greater odds, they will be
able to hold their own, and I have no doubt you will have a stirring time.
I only wish that I had been able to go with him. He was good enough to say
so in his letter to me. That is unfortunately out of the question.
However, Stephen, you must choose for yourself. There is no saying what
may come of this business. You know that Lord Cochrane is a hot-headed
man, and one who does not mince matters. The Chilians, I believe, are the
brightest and most energetic of any of the South American peoples, but
that, you know, is not saying a great deal. Cochrane is sure to be
maddened by delays and difficulties of all kinds, and if so he will
certainly speak out in a way that will ruffle their feelings greatly, and
may bring on trouble.
“He is what is called an impracticable man, Stephen. He is himself the
soul of honour and generosity, and so is altogether unable to refrain from
giving vent to his indignation and disgust when he sees these qualities
lacking in others. He has ruined his own career here by his intolerance of
wrong, whether the wrong was inflicted upon himself or upon others. He has
rather injured than benefited the cause of our seamen by the intemperate
zeal with which he pressed his reforms, and by allying himself heart and
soul with the ultra-radicals. Such a man as he may get on well with a
people like the South Americans, his dashing bravery, his frankness, and
his disregard of ceremony will render him popular among the people at
large, but will raise up for him enemies innumerable among the governing
class. I cannot, therefore, for a minute think that the present
arrangement will be a permanent one. I say all this to assure you that you
cannot expect to find a permanent career in the service of Chili; but, on
the other hand, you will have the advantage of fighting under the bravest
officer of modern times.
“You will, I have no doubt, take part in some brilliant feats. And to have
served under Cochrane will, as long as you live, be a feather in your cap,
just as I feel that it is a great honour for myself, although it has been
to my pecuniary disadvantage, to have done so. I have exchanged letters
with Mr. Hewson on the subject. He has behaved with the greatest kindness
in the matter, and agrees with me that it would in some respects be a
great advantage to you. He has offered in the kindest possible way to
allow your apprenticeship to run on while you are with Cochrane, just as
if you were still serving with his own ships, and whenever you may return
to England he will reinstate you in his service, the time you have been
away counting just the same as if you had been with him. I expressed a
doubt whether your apprenticeship would count; but he said that any master
being, from any circumstances, unable to teach a trade to an apprentice,
as he covenanted to do, could, with the consent of that apprentice, hand
him over to another employer; and that as you will be learning the sea as
efficiently on the coast of Chili as elsewhere, he could loan you, as it
were, to Lord Cochrane. Besides, of course, there is no real necessity for
passing through an apprenticeship in order to become an officer. Large
numbers of men do, in fact, become officers without ever having been
apprenticed, as it is only necessary to serve so many years at sea, and to
pass an examination. Still, there are advantages the other way. All
ship-owners prefer a man who has served an apprenticeship in a good line
of ships, as he would naturally be better mannered and better educated,
and therefore better fitted for the position of an officer in ships
carrying passengers. In that way it would be as well that you should
obtain your discharge at the end of your term of apprenticeship from Mr.
Hewson, although I have some doubts whether your sea-service under a
foreign flag would be allowed to count by the examiners if you went up to
pass as a mate. Upon the other hand, lad, you are now in a good service,
and are certain to get on if you remain in it; and you have less chance of
being shot than if you go with Cochrane.”
“I don’t know that, father. I can tell you I have had just as close a
shave under Captain Pinder as I could have under Lord Cochrane. Only three
of us out of nine got through; the other six were killed and eaten by the
Malays; and if the Spaniards kill a man, at least they will not eat him.
Oh, I should certainly like to go with Lord Cochrane!”
“I thought you would. As far as one can see there is no chance of our
being engaged in any naval wars for many years to come, for all Europe is
in alliance with us, and is likely to continue so; and even if we have
trouble with any of them, our fleet is so overpoweringly strong that even
a coalition of all the other powers of Europe could not stand against us
at sea. It is a good thing no doubt for the nation; but such a peace as
this is likely to be, gives no chance for naval men to distinguish
themselves. I must say that I consider you are fortunate indeed to have
this opportunity of seeing some service under the man who, of all others,
is distinguished for dash and bravery. He is the Lord Peterborough of the
present day.”
“Who was he, father?”
“He was a military man in the days of Queen Anne. He performed
extraordinary feats of bravery in Spain, and in many other respects his
character bore a strong resemblance to that of Lord Cochrane. Well,
Stephen, we had better lose no time, and I propose that we go up to town
again to-morrow morning. No doubt he would like to see you, and there is
nothing like settling the thing finally; and one interview is worth a
dozen letters. Let me see.” Mr. Embleton consulted the sailing-list. “As
there is no boat sailing to-morrow, we will take the coach. It would be
better anyhow, for there is never any saying with certainty when the
packets will arrive. With a strong southerly wind they may do it in two
tides, though it is only once in a hundred times that they manage it;
still, even three tides would be very fair. But we could not risk the
chances, and it is a duty to let Lord Cochrane know as early as possible,
as no doubt he has many applications, and would be glad to be able to say
that the matter was finally settled.”
They arrived in town the next evening and called upon Lord Cochrane the
first thing after breakfast next day. On Mr. Embleton sending in his name
he was at once admitted.
“I am heartily glad to see you, old friend,” Lord Cochrane said as he rose
from the table, at which he was writing. “So this is your boy! His
appearance saves me asking questions. When did he get back?”
“He arrived in town on Monday evening, came down on Tuesday to Dover, and
returned here with me last night.”
“You have indeed lost no time. Well, young sir, what do you think of going
out with me?”
“I should like it above everything, my lord, and I am deeply grateful to
you for offering me the post.”
“It is to your father, lad, that you should be grateful, and not to me,
for he earned it for you. So you have had eighteen months in the eastern
seas?”
“Yes, sir.”
“A very good school, I should say, Embleton; one has to keep one’s eyes
open there.”
“Yes indeed. He told me on the way up yesterday of an adventure he had had
with the Malays, and as only three out of a boat-load of nine escaped, it
must have been a pretty sharp business.”
“If only three escaped it must have been sharp indeed,” Lord Cochrane
said, “and they must have had marvellous luck in getting out of the
Malays’ hands. He shall tell me all about it on our voyage out. Now, come
along with me.”
He led the way to the dining-room, where Lady Cochrane was sitting, while
her two children, of four and five years old, were playing about.
“My dear,” he said, “this is Lieutenant Embleton, whom you have heard me
speak of a score of times as a most gallant officer, and a most ill-used
man. This is his son, who is, you know, going out with us as my
flag-midshipman; he has been eighteen months in the Indian Archipelago.
And let me tell you, the Malays are much more serious foes than the
Spaniards. You know, youngster, one of the chief duties of an admiral’s
midshipman is to make himself agreeable to the admiral’s wife and family,
if there are such incumbrances. He goes errands for her, attends her when
she goes shopping, is a sort of head nurse to the children, and in our
service he is generally nicknamed the admiral’s poodle. However, as soon
as I get out there, I hope to find more attractive work for you, and until
I do, I am sure my wife and the children will be glad they have someone
with them to speak English.”
“I shall be very glad to be of any service I can,” Stephen said earnestly.
“I am afraid,” Lady Cochrane said with a smile, “that we shall have very
little opportunity of availing ourselves of your services. When we once
get out there you will be carried off by Lord Cochrane, and he will never
set foot on shore again unless when absolutely driven to it.”
“Is your time for sailing fixed yet, Lord Cochrane?” the lieutenant asked.
“We shall sail on the 15th of August from Boulogne, so that your son will
have three weeks to make his preparations.”
“Three days would be sufficient,” Embleton said, with a smile. “Naval
outfitters are not so busy as they used to be, and would furnish an
admiral’s kit, if necessary, in that time. Is there any particular
uniform, sir?”
“No, it is something like our own; and if you rig him out in an ordinary
midshipman’s uniform that will be good enough. Thank goodness, this weary
waiting is over. It is now fourteen months since I accepted the offer of
the Chilian government sent me by their agent, Don Jose Alvarez. I was to
put off my departure so as to look after the building and equipment of a
war steamer for the service, but there have been incessant delays owing to
want of money. It has been enough to madden one; and, after all, I have to
go without her and we sail in the _Rose_. She is one of the sloops sold
out of the navy, and is now a merchantman. I daresay they would have kept
me dawdling about here for months to come if it hadn’t been that they have
been getting the worst of it out there, and it at length occurred to them
that the admiral’s place is in command of his fleet, and not to act as a
sort of foreman in looking after a single ship being built. We shall
embark at Rye, but, of course, it will be more handy for you to send or
bring him to Boulogne. I expect that we shall be there on the 13th, so as
to have time to shake down before we start. Your son had better be there
on that day. I will draw up his commission as my flag-midshipman at once,
and will hand it to you when you dine with me, which I trust you and your
son will do this evening. It is very fortunate that I am disengaged, for
just at present I am going through a painful round of farewell dinners
from my political friends.”
“I shall be very glad to do so, sir,” Mr. Embleton said, “and will not
detain you farther now.”
As soon as they left Lord Cochrane they went to see Mr. Hewson.
“It is all arranged, I suppose?” the latter said as they entered.
“Yes, we have just left Lord Cochrane; but in the first place, Stephen,
who is not much accustomed to return thanks, has asked me to say in his
name how extremely obliged he is for your most kind offer to allow him to
remain on the books of your fleet.”
“Say no more about it, Embleton. I am very pleased that I can be of any
service to you, and to the lad also. Captain Pinder has spoken most warmly
to me of his conduct during the voyage. He behaved in all respects
excellently; and although, happily, the captain was not laid up, and was
therefore able to attend himself to the details of navigation, he says
that had he been disabled he should have felt no uneasiness on that score,
Stephen’s observations being to the full as accurate as his own. He
especially speaks of him in tones of commendation for his conduct in that
unfortunate boat affair. Every credit is due to the sailor Wilcox who was
with him through it; but the latter himself told the captain that he felt
so certain that all those in the boat had been killed, that he should not
have undertaken the risk of going near the Malay village had it not been
for the lad’s insisting. He says, too, that although junior to Joyce—the
lad they rescued—Stephen was really the leader; that many of his
suggestions were most valuable. Wilcox is particularly strong on the
manner in which the lad contrived to kindle a fire by using his
watch-glass filled with water as a burning-glass. Altogether, I feel sure
that your boy will make an excellent officer as he goes on, and I am glad
that he will now have the opportunity of seeing some active service under
Cochrane.
“I agree with what you said in your letter, that the berth is by no means
likely to be a permanent one. As soon as Cochrane has relieved them from
the state in which they now are, they are sure to be jealous of him, and
he is the last man in the world to put up with slights, or to hold on to
an appointment when he sees that he is no longer wanted. Still, it will do
the lad a great deal of good and make a man of him, and his experience
will put him outside the general category of mercantile sailors. I have
got his chests here; they were sent up yesterday. I shall, of course, try
and find out who was the captain of that ship whose chronometers he
bought. Captain Pinder has told me all about it, and Stephen is absolutely
entitled to the money he got. At the same time his offer to divide it was
a generous one, but Captain Pinder and the mates are all dead against
accepting it, and I agree with them. The money would be a mere trifle all
round, but it will be a comfortable little sum for him. And it will, I am
sure, be a satisfaction to him to be able to purchase his outfit now
without trenching on your purse, especially as, going out as Cochrane’s
own midshipman, he must take a much larger outfit than usual, as he will,
of course, have to accompany the admiral on all public occasions. Now, I
suppose he will like to go down to the dock and say good-bye to them
there. The _Tiger_ began unloading yesterday, and a good many of the hands
will be paid off to-morrow.”
Captain Pinder and the first and third officers expressed their sincere
regret that Stephen was not going to sail with them on the next voyage,
and Joyce was greatly cut up about it.
“I wanted you to go down with me to stay with my father and mother near
Oxford,” he said. “I wrote to them from Gravesend and I had a letter this
morning, in which they told me to make you promise to come down before we
sailed again.”
“I may be back again in a year,” Stephen replied, “and if I am I think Mr.
Hewson will appoint me to the _Tiger_ again.”
The captain undertook to dispose of Stephen’s collection of curios and
bird skins for him, and also, if no news was obtained as to the lost ship,
he would, when he sailed again, hand the chronometers and quadrants over
to Mr. Hewson to keep for him.
Mr. Hewson that evening again talked over the question of the bag of money
with Lieutenant Embleton, and convinced the latter that Stephen was
entitled to keep the money, to which his right was, he declared,
unquestionable. Stephen’s father was of the same opinion himself, and
argued the question only because he felt that the fact that the money was
really extremely useful at the present time, might render him unable to
judge the matter fairly. He really had no answer to the reasons given by
his friend, who, he was well assured, would not urge the matter upon him
did he not feel that Stephen was really entitled to keep the money, which
had entirely and absolutely passed out of the possession of its former
owners, whoever they were.
“I never heard,” he said, “that anyone who was lucky enough to recover
treasure in an old wreck had his right to retain it questioned, and here
not even the wreck remained. So we will keep it and spend it, Hewson; but
if you ever discover the owners of that ship let me know, and I shall be
prepared to discuss the question with them.”
“We shall never discover them, my good sir,” Hewson said. “How can any man
in the world say that that money belongs to a ship that has disappeared in
the Malay Archipelago? The only possible clue is that afforded by the
chronometers, and here again it is unlikely in the extreme that the owners
of the ship, that has, perhaps, been sailing the seas for thirty or forty
years, would be able to swear to her chronometers. Lastly, there is no
shadow of proof that the chest in which the money was found came from the
same ship as the chronometers; they may be the proceeds of two different
acts of piracy. You will never hear anything about it.”