The Island of Gold Part 51

Not a word was spoken until the boat was beyond the bay and in very deep water.

"Way enough!" cried Halcott. "In oars!"

All sat there with bent, uncovered heads while the captain read the service; but his voice was choked with emotion, and when the shotted hammock took the water with a melancholy boom and disappeared, he closed the book. He could say no more for a time.

As a rule seafarers are not orators, though what they do say is generally to the point.

Halcott sat for fully a minute like one in a trance, gazing silently and reverently at the spot where the body had disappeared.

The bubbles had soon ceased to rise, and there was nothing now to mark the sailor's cemetery. Though--

"He was the loved of all, Yet none on his low grave might weep."

"My friends," said Halcott, "there in peace rests the body of my dearest friend, my adopted brother. I never had a brother save him. How much I loved him none can ever know. The world and the s.h.i.+p will be a deal more lonesome to me now that James has gone. For many and many a long year we sailed the seas together, and weathered many a gale and storm.

Sound, sound may he sleep, while wind and waves shall sing his dirge.

Unselfish was he to the end, and every inch a sailor. His last word was 'Victory;' and well may we now add, 'O death, where is thy sting? O grave, where is thy victory?'

"Out oars, men! Give way with a will!"

They reached the sh.o.r.e in safety, and drew up the boat high and dry.

But none too soon; for, before they got on board once more, a terrible thunderstorm had come on, with lightning more vivid than any one on the hulk ever remembered.

I have Tandy's log before me as I write, and I do not think I can do better than make a few extracts therefrom.

"_The lost Barque, Sea Flower_.--On the rocks, in Treachery Bay, Isle of Misfortune, lat.i.tude --, longitude --, August 5, 18--. Buried poor James Malone to-day. Halcott terribly cut up. Doesn't seem to be the same man. But we all miss James; he was so gentle, so kind, and true.

We miss Fitz also. His merry ways and laughing face made him a favourite with us all. And honest Tom Wilson; we shall never again hear his sweet music. Thank Heaven that, though the thunder is now rolling, the lightning flas.h.i.+ng, and a rain that looks like mud falling, I have my darlings both beside me! In the darkest hours I have ever spent in life, I've always had something to comfort me. Yes, G.o.d is good.

"The sun is setting. I never saw a sun look so lurid and red before.

The thunder continues, but the rain has ceased. There are frequent smart shocks of earthquake.

"_August 8_.--Two awful days and nights have pa.s.sed, and still we are all alive. The days have been days of darkness; the ashes and scoriae have been falling constantly, and now lie an inch at least in depth upon our deck. Nights lit up by the flames that spout cloud-high from the volcano, carrying with them rocks and stones and steam. There is a terribly mephitic vapour over everything. How long this may last Heaven alone can tell."

"_August 12_.--Four more fearful days. The eruption continues with unabated horror--the thunderings, the lightnings, the showers of stones and ashes, and the rolling clouds of dust through which, even at midday, the sun glares like a ball of crimson fire.

"Poor Chips is dead; we buried him yesterday. More of us are ill.

Halcott himself is depressed, and my wee Nelda cares for nothing save lying languidly on the sofa all day long. The thought that she may die haunts me night and day."

"_August 13_.--Almost at the last of our provisions. The biscuit is finished; the very dust has been sc.r.a.ped up and eaten. Not more than a score of tins of _soupe en bouille_ left in the s.h.i.+p, and about one gallon of rum. Served out to-day what remained of the salmon, and gave double allowance of rum to-night.

"Not a green thing seems to be left on the island."

"_August 15_.--Feel languid and weary. Went to prayers to-day. All our hopes must now centre in the life to come; we have none for this."

"_August 18_.--The strange crane lies trussed in a corner of the saloon.

We force him to eat a little, and Bob sits near him and licks his face.

"To-day Bob went off by himself. He was away for hours, and we thought we should never see him again; but in the afternoon he returned, driving before him five little black pigs. Thin and miserable are they, but a G.o.dsend nevertheless.

"Lava pouring down the hill-side all night long, s.h.i.+mmering green, red, and orange through the sulphurous haze."

"_August 20_.--Men more cheerful to-day. The clouds have cleared away, and we can see the sea, and the sun is less red.

"Halcott and I climbed Observatory Hill. What a scene! The once beautiful island is burnt as it were to a cinder. Trees are scorched; all, all is dead. We could not bear to look at it. But we cut down the flag-pole, and brought away the ensign. They are useless now.

"Who will be the next to die? 'O Father,' I cry in my agony, 'spare my life while my little one lives, that I may minister to her till the last! Then take my boy and me!'"

"_August 22_.--Four bells in the middle-watch. I awoke an hour ago with a start. Halcott, too, had rushed into the saloon.

"'Did you hear it?' he cried wildly.

"Yes, I had heard.

"The unusual sound awoke us all--the sound of a s.h.i.+p blowing off steam in the bay yonder, far beneath us. The sound of anchor chains rattling out, the sound of voices--the voices of brave British sailors!

"'Halcott! Halcott!' I cried; 'we are saved!'

"I'm sure I have been weeping. Nelda is on my knee at this moment while I write, her cheek pressed close to mine. Oh, how good G.o.d has been to me! We have fired off guns, and raised our voices in a feeble cheer, and the people have replied.

"It is no dream then.

"Surely I am not mad!

"Oh, will the morning never come? and will the sun never s.h.i.+ne again?

I--"

The log breaks off abruptly just here, and all that I have further to say was gleaned from Halcott and Tandy themselves.

The steamer, then, that had arrived so opportunely to save the few unhappy survivors of the lost _Sea Flower_ was the trader _Borneo_. The very first to welcome them when they went on board at early dawn was honest Weathereye himself. He had a hand for Halcott and a hand for Tandy--a heart for both.

"G.o.d bless you!" he hastened to say. "Ah! do not tell me your sad story now--no, never a bit of it. The _Dun Avon_ brought your letters, and I could not rest till I came out.

"But run below, Halcott; some one else wants to welcome you. You'll be surprised--"

Halcott never knew rightly whether he had descended to the saloon on wings or on his feet, or whether he had jumped right down through the skylight.

A minute afterwards, however, Doris was weeping in his arms--ah! such glad, glad tears--and Doris's mother arose from a couch with a happy smile.

That same day, after taking all that was valuable out of the dear old _Sea Flower_--and that _all_ included a fortune in gold--the hull was set on fire.

In the evening the steamer left the island, but not before Tandy and Halcott had taken the bearings of the hidden mine.

In that cave lies an immense fortune for some one some day.