baronet to Mildmay, springing, as he spoke, for the door of the pilot-
house, which he flung open, rushing out on deck and seizing the body as
though fearful that it might yet be snatched away from him.
Gently raising it in his arms he turned and bore the slender form to the
shelter of the pilot-house, at the door of which he was met by the
professor, who felt that his medical skill might yet perhaps serve the
unfortunate girl in good stead. Together they conveyed her below to one
of the state-rooms, and, without a moment's loss of time, the most
approved methods of resuscitation were vigorously resorted to. For
fully half an hour their utmost efforts proved all unavailing; but von
Schalckenberg so positively asserted life was not extinct that they
persevered, and at length a slight return of warmth to the body and
colour to the lips, followed by a fluttering sigh, assured them that
success was about to reward their endeavours. Another minute, and a
pair of glorious brown eyes were disclosed by their opening lids, a
faint moan escaped the quivering lips, the head moved uneasily upon the
pillow, and the sufferer murmured a few inarticulate words.
"Thank God, we have saved her, I believe," ejaculated Sir Reginald, in a
whisper, to the professor. "Now, doctor, I will retire and leave you to
complete her restoration, so that the poor girl may be spared
embarrassment as far as possible on the full recovery of consciousness.
But I shall establish myself outside the door of the state-room, within
easy reach of your voice should you need anything; and do not forget
that the whole resources of the ship are at your absolute disposal."
"All right," answered the professor. "Now go, for the patient is coming
to herself rapidly."
Half an hour later von Schalckenberg crept out on tiptoe, his kindly
face beaming and his eyes sparkling with exultation.
"It is all right," he whispered in his broadest German-English. "I have
fully restored the circulation, and the young patient is now in a sound
sleep, from which she must not be disturbed on any account. I shall
keep watch by her side, and when she awakes you shall all be duly
informed of the circumstance. You may now go about your business, my
good friend, your services are no longer required here."
The worthy professor kept sedulous watch over his patient until
satisfied that she was completely out of danger, presenting her to his
companions only when they assembled in the saloon for dinner some four-
and-twenty hours after the catastrophe which had thrown her into their
society.
The colonel and Mildmay were stricken absolutely, though only
temporarily, dumb with astonishment and admiration at the vision of
remarkable beauty which met their gaze as the saloon door opened, and
von Schalckenberg, stepping hastily forward with a most courtly bow, met
the fair stranger at the threshold, taking her hand and leading her
forward into the apartment preliminary to the ceremony of introduction.
Even Sir Reginald, though he had not failed to notice the beauty of the
pale and apparently lifeless girl he had raised from the wet deck and
borne so carefully below on the preceding evening, was startled at her
radiant loveliness as she, somewhat shrinkingly and with a momentary
vivid blush, responded to the introductions and congratulatory greetings
which immediately followed. All night long, and throughout the day, she
had been haunted by the dreamy recollection of another face than that of
the kindly professor who had so assiduously nursed her back to life--a
bronzed handsome face, with tender pitiful blue eyes, close-cut auburn
hair clustering wavily about the small shapely head, and luxuriant
auburn moustache and beard, bending anxiously over her as she lay weak,
helpless, suffering, and with the feebly-returning consciousness of
having recently experienced some terrible calamity; of having passed
through some awful and harrowing ordeal; and now, as she gave her hand
to Sir Reginald, and shyly glanced up into his handsome face and read
the tender sympathy for her expressed by the kindly blue eyes, she
recognised the embodiment of the vision which had haunted her so
persistently, and knew that she had not been merely dreaming. The
circumstances in which she thus found herself placed were certainly
somewhat embarrassing; but, with the tact of a true gentleman, Sir
Reginald at once led the conversation into a channel which soon made the
poor girl forget her embarrassment, and almost immediately afterwards
the party sat down to dinner.
During the progress of this meal--which, however, their guest scarcely
tasted--the gentlemen were made aware of the circumstances which led to
this lovely girl being thrown, helpless and friendless, into their
society and upon their hospitality.
Her name, she informed them, was Olivia D'Arcy. She was an orphan. Her
brother, formerly a lieutenant in the royal navy, had been compelled by
straitened circumstances to quit the service and enter the mercantile
marine, in which he had without much difficulty succeeded in securing a
command. By practising the most rigid economy he had contrived to
maintain his only sister, Olivia, and educate her at a first-class
school, and on her education being completed he had decided, as the
simplest way out of many difficulties, financial and otherwise, to take
her to sea with him. This had been her first voyage with him, as it had
been his first in command of the _Mercury_. The ship had been to
Manilla, and at the time of her loss was homeward-bound, with
instructions to call at Madras _en route_. The voyage had been an
unfortunate one in many respects, even from its commencement, and Olivia
thought the climax had been reached when, a week before her wreck, the
_Mercury_ had been attacked by pirates in the Straits of Malacca, and
her brother slain by the pirates' last shot, as they retired defeated.
The cruel shot, she declared in a burst of uncontrollable grief, had
robbed her, in her brother, of her sole relative; and whilst she was
deeply grateful to those she addressed for preserving her life, she felt
that it would perhaps have been better for her had she been allowed to
perish.
Such a story was calculated to excite the deepest sympathy and
commiseration in the breasts of those who listened to it; and it did; in
Sir Reginald's case, indeed, the feeling was even warmer than either of
those mentioned, especially when he learned, upon further inquiry, that
Olivia's brother had been none other than the George D'Arcy who, in the
days of their mutual boyhood, had fought many a battle on his behalf at
Eton when certain first-form bullies had shown a disposition to
tyrannise over the then delicate curly-headed "Miss Reggie" (as
Elphinstone was dubbed when he first entered the school), and the
sorrowing girl was assured that, so far from being friendless, she would
find in her then companions four men upon whom she might always rely for
the warmest sympathy, the most kindly counsel, and the most substantial
help so long as their lives might last.
The accession of such a guest as Olivia D'Arcy to the little party on
board the _Flying Fish_ occasioned, it will readily be understood, a
complete and immediate change in all their plans. In the first moment
that they gave to the consideration of the matter they saw that it would
never do for a young, beautiful, and unprotected girl to accompany them
hither and thither in their wanderings, even were she willing to do so,
which they felt well assured she would not be. Two alternatives then
presented themselves to the choice of the party: the one being to land
her at the nearest port, and, furnishing her with the necessary means,
leave her to make her way to England alone and unprotected as best she
could; the other alternative involving the temporary abandonment of
their further projects and the immediate return of the _Flying Fish_ to
England. The first project was named only to be abruptly and
unanimously rejected by the entire party, the second being gladly
adopted by Sir Reginald upon his receiving from his three friends the
assurance of their hearty approval and acquiescence.
This decision was arrived at shortly before midnight on the evening
following Olivia's formal introduction by the professor to the remaining
members of the party, and thereupon--the _Flying Fish_ being at the time
afloat and making her way leisurely southward toward the Straits of
Malacca--an ascent to the upper regions of the atmosphere was at once
made, and the ship's head pointed homeward. The distance to be
traversed was considerable, but it was calculated that by travelling at
the ship's utmost speed along the arc of a great circle (the shortest
possible route between any two places on the earth's surface), the
journey might be accomplished in about forty-five hours, which, allowing
for the difference of longitude in time between their then position and
the English Channel, would enable them to reach the latter place at
about two o'clock in the afternoon of the day but one following. This
was rather an awkward time, if they still intended to maintain their
secrecy of movement and avoid observation, but under the circumstances
they resolved to risk it. Soaring, therefore, to a height of ten
thousand feet--the elevation which experience had taught them to be most
suitable for the performance of long-distance journeys--the _Flying
Fish_ was put to her utmost speed, and, with the gentlemen keeping watch
by turns in the pilot-house, the journey was commenced.
Swiftly the wonderful fabric sped forward upon her homeward way, and,
without incident of any kind worthy of mention, and almost at the very
minute calculated upon, the waters of the English Channel were sighted;
an unobserved descent being effected some twenty miles seaward of the
little town of Saint Valery on the French coast. A course was now
shaped for the Isle of Wight, and, a few hours later, one of the boats
belonging to the _Flying Fish_ quietly glided into Portsmouth harbour in
charge of Lieutenant Mildmay. Three passengers--Olivia D'Arcy, the
professor, and Colonel Lethbridge--landed from her without attracting
any attention, and found themselves just in good time to take the London
express, which they did, Mildmay making his solitary way out of the
harbour again immediately.
In accordance with arrangements previously made by Sir Reginald, Miss
D'Arcy was escorted by her two cavaliers straight to the town residence
of a certain aunt of the baronet's, and handed over to the care and
protection of the old lady, with whom (to make short of a long story)
for the ensuing twelve months she found a most comfortable and happy
home; Sir Reginald and Mildmay turning up in town two days later laden
with their African spoils, the equitable division of which, and their
ultimate disposal, occupied the party for several months.
Thus ended the cruise of the _Flying Fish_. What remains to be told may
be said in a very few words. Will the sagacious reader be very much
surprised to learn that Sir Reginald Elphinstone suddenly discovered, in
the aunt who had kindly taken Olivia D'Arcy under her protection, an old
lady whose good graces were worth the most assiduous cultivation? Such,
at all events, was the fact, and, this much having been stated, the
aforesaid sagacious reader will perhaps be not altogether unprepared to
learn that, about a year after the return of the _Flying Fish_ to
England, a wedding took place from that old lady's house; in which
ceremony Olivia enacted most charmingly the part of bride, with Sir
Reginald as bridegroom, supported by the three staunch friends who had
shared with him so many perils.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
And what about the _Flying Fish_, does somebody ask? When last heard of
she was--where she probably still is--lying safe and unsuspected at the
bottom of the "Hurd Deep," in the identical spot where she made her
first descent into the waters of the English Channel.
Whether she will ever again be put into commission--and, if so, under
what circumstances--time alone will show.
THE END.
End of Project Gutenberg's The Log of the Flying Fish, by Harry Collingwood