CHAPTER II.

THE FORTITUDE OF ETHEL.

On the evening succeeding this day, Morley and Mr. Basset spent some hours with Ethel and Rose in the little cabin, while their friends kept their anxious watch in the outer one, over the skylight of which the sail was yet drawn. That which had been hung over the taffrail was hauled in; but the use it had been put to prevented Captain Phillips, on this occasion, from chalking on a black board the demand for succour which he meant to exhibit from the cabin windows, if a feasible opportunity with a passing sail occurred.

There was but little conversation with the Bassets, so the time passed in sad glances and sadder sighs; but Ethel seemed to have more confidence, more fortitude, and more hope for the future than any of those about her.

Old Nance Folgate lay on her bed, where, from time to time, she sighed over the peaceful security of her cottage in a green lane at Acton-Rennel, and groaned heavily at the reflection that she would never see it any more, or, perhaps, the solid earth again.

Rose sat on a hassock on the cabin-floor, with her pretty head resting, child-like, on her father's knee, while his hands were crossed caressingly above it.

Ethel half drooped her head on Morley's shoulder, and so they sat, buried in thought and anxiety, each for the others rather than themselves, for "the passion of love and parental affection are counterparts of each other," says Reid; "and, meeting with a proper return, are the sources of all domestic felicity, the greatest, next to that of a good conscience, which this world affords. But its joys and griefs are fitter to be sung than said."

As Mr. Basset gazed upon his two daughters, and summed up the dangers which menaced them, how bitterly he repented that he had not remained in England, even with the wreck of his fortune, and sought subsistence there in any way, rather than have stooped to the false pride which made him seek that colonial appointment, and lured him away from home.

These, and many such ideas, occurred to him when it was too late to retreat, or reverse the dictates of fate.

Morley's heart swelled with mingled love and sorrow, as he looked on Ethel's pale and delicate face. Could it be that they were only united, to be, perhaps, more surely parted again? Surely no pair of lovers, even in the most highly-spiced "sensational novel," were ever the victims of adverse fate so much as they.

They were silent; but their hearts understood each other, for their eyes were the interpreters of a silent language, known to lovers only. Still, as we have said, amid the horrors of anticipation, Ethel singularly preserved her presence of mind, and seemed to rise superior to the present occasion. With one hand clasped in Morley's, she sat with her Bible open on her knee, and, before they separated for the night, she read aloud the twenty-first chapter of Revelation, for religion and regard could soothe or sweeten even their adverse destiny.

On the fly-leaf of this Bible was written the autograph of her mother, "Ethel Rose Basset, London," dated on her bridal-day, just twenty-four years before, so it was one of Ethels most valued relics; and while she read, her pallor and beauty, her pure profile and sublime composure, together with the richness and softness of her sweet English voice, were very touching; and she had listeners without who bent their heads to hear her, for at the cabin-door were Bartelot, Morrison, and Heriot, who sat on guard, with old Noah, who, more reverent than they, doffed his battered tarpaulin in a dark corner, and, as the words fell from Ethel's lips, he hoped they might prove prophetic, for sailors generally are deeply impressed by anything appertaining to religion, though having strong doubts about the policy of voyaging with a black cat or a parson.

So Ethel read on, and Noah's grizzled head bent lower, as she read:

"And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes, and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying; neither shall there be any more pain, for the former things are passed away.

"He that overcometh shall inherit all things, for I will be his God, and he shall be my son.

"_But_ the fearful, and unbelieving, the abominable, and murderers, &c., shall have their part in the lake which burneth with fire and brimstone, which is the second death."

At such a time, in such a place, and with a dark doom perhaps hanging over all, Ethel's sweet low voice thrilled through every heart; so she continued to inspire them with confidence, and there was almost a smile upon her father's careworn and anxious face as he kissed her and Rose, and retiring with Morley, closed the cabin-door, and left them to repose.

"Good night, Morley--good night, dear papa," was again whispered through the cabin-door.

"Good night! God bless you both, darlings," said Mr. Basset.

"Sleep if you can, dear girls," added Morley, as he and Mr. Basset picked their way through the cabin by the light of a candle (which feebly replaced the lamp that whilom swung from the beams), and joined the party who were on watch under Captain Phillips, while Tom Bartelot, with his three--for there were only eight men in all in the cabin now, opposed to twenty, including Hawkshaw--prepared to sleep while they could.

They heard the starboard tacks eased off, as the wind--the south-west monsoon--came more duly aft; and steering by the stars, Pedro, a skilful mariner, kept the ship he had captured in the course he wished her to pursue.

So, as the night stole on, a strange quiet reigned on deck--a silence which seemed almost ominous, when the characters and purpose of those who held the ship were considered; and they were more numerous now, since the death of the first mate and the steward.

But the actual reason of the extreme quietness was, that some of the crew were weary with working at the jury rigging; others had dozed themselves off to sleep, quite intoxicated, with some cases of Cliquot which they had started out of the forehold; there was scarcely any watch on deck save the man at the wheel, who permitted the ship to yaw fearfully, and to fall away from her course every moment; while the two Barradas, with Badger and Sharkey, were in the forecastle, devising means to get possession of the cabin by stratagem, and to massacre its male occupants, against whom, for their skilful resistance, these pirates cherished a glow of real vengeance, as if a wrong had been done them; and if those in the cabin had but known the state of matters on deck, they might have recaptured the ship with ease, and closed the fore-scuttle like a trap on the ruffians below.

Captain Phillips was certain that they could scarcely pass through the Mozambique Channel, the narrowest part of which is about two hundred and forty miles wide, and studded with many islands, without being overhauled by some homeward-bound ship; and though one great chance of succour had gone for nothing, so assured did he feel of ultimately getting the mutineers punished, that he kept about his own person the muster-roll--a document which every shipmaster must keep, for therein are specified his own name, with the names of all his ship's company, their birth-places, with their time and place of entering before the mast, and so forth, together with their register-tickets--all of which he duly hoped to lay at a future day before a commissioned officer in Her Majesty's service, or some civil magistrate, prior to seeing the Barradas and their companions swinging at the yard-arm; but, unhappily for worthy Captain Phillips and his friends, all these hopes of retribution seemed very dim and distant yet.

Slowly the night stole on.

Morley felt, he knew not why, painfully wakeful; and, unlike his companions in the captain's watch, he had no necessity to pinch his arms, rub his eyes, or so forth, to keep as much awake as possible.

The cabin looked dreary and desolate by the feeble light of the candle, which sputtered in the wind that came between the skylight and the sail which still covered it. The broken furniture, the splintered panelling, the general air of wreck and ruin that pervaded it, the deep shadows against which the pale and haggard faces of his companions, who slept with weapon in hand, were sharply defined, seemed like a vision or dream altogether, and such he might almost have deemed it, but for the steady rolling of the ship, which was now running before the wind; the noise of the water under the counter; the clatter of the empty champagne bottles which strewed the deck, and with every roll of the ship flew, clashing and breaking, from port to starboard; the clank of the rudder in its iron bands, the whistling hum of the night-wind, that sung monotonously through the rigging aloft!

He frequently turned his eyes to the dim streak of light that shone from under the door of the little cabin occupied by the sisters, and hoped that now, in the oblivion of sleep, they had found repose for a time; and in imagination he saw their sweet faces hushed upon the same pillow, with Rose's nestling in Ethel's gentle bosom.

Twice that streak of light seemed to die away in obscurity, and twice the shadow of a foot seemed to darken it.

Were Rose or Ethel stirring?

He listened, but all remained still there, till suddenly a gasping sob, a wild, half-stifled cry, and then the sound as of something or some one falling heavily on the cabin floor, made him leap up as with a shock of electricity, and spring towards their door.

Either it was fastened within, or his trembling fingers failed in strength when most he needed it.

Fully a minute elapsed ere he and Tom Bartelot forced open the door, and they all crowded in, to find the little cabin quite dark.

"A light--a light! for Heaven's sake!" cried Morley.

"Oh, what new horror, what new calamity is this?" added Mr. Basset, wringing his hands, as Captain Phillips brought the candle from the tin sconce in the outer cabin.

Half disrobed for the night, as they were never completely undressed now, Rose Basset lay on the floor on her face in a swoon. Nance Folgate, beside herself with terror, was coiled up among the blankets of her berth, speechless or incoherent--otherwise the little cabin was empty, for _Ethel was no longer there_!

The Bible from which she had been reading overnight lay upon the floor, crushed and bruised, as if by a heavy foot. Close by it was a black and gold-coloured Indian shawl, which she had worn over her shoulders; but no other trace remained in that little cabin of Ethel Basset, who seemed to have been strangely and mysteriously spirited out of it.

Morley felt stunned, and felt also how immeasurably all imagination and anticipation were unequal to portray the horror of such a shock as this!