CHAPTER XXIV.

THE ANCHOR IS LET GO.

Our story is now drawing to a close, but no sudden or striking tableau, no tremendous _dénouement_ or poetical rhapsody will attend the fall of the curtain, albeit that truth is stranger than fiction.

The ships sailed in company. They were seldom far apart, and often were so near that those on board could hail each other and converse.

The weather was fine, the trade-wind steady, and the remainder of the voyage proved alike pleasant and prosperous.

Of the Isle of Bourbon they saw only the smoke of its volcano, rising into the clear air of a calm morning, and by sunset of the following day, the colours displayed from the gaff-peak of the _Duke of Rothesay_, which was ten miles ahead, and the discharge of one of her twelve-pounders to windward, announced that the Isle of France was in sight although not visible from the main-top of the _Hermione_; but the report of the gun sent a thrill through the hearts of all on board.

The stormy petrel was tripping around them the same as ever; but they had no fears now, for after sunset the harbour lights of Port Louis were seen to twinkle over the sea; so the cables were roused out of the tier, and rattled cheerily as they were laid in fakes along the deck; they were bent to the anchors; the deep sea lead was in constant requisition, and the hawsers were brought up from between decks.

By daybreak next morning the ships were close in shore, and in the pilot's charge, with a fine breeze, ran in between Fort Blanc and the Isles des Tonneliers, so the spires of the town were right ahead. As the ship, with her courses clewed up, ran under her jury topsails and driver into the fine old harbour of Port Louis, Morley and Ethel were on deck together. Rose was below with Nance Folgate, busy packing, though her more thoughtful sister had done all her own share of that duty long ago.

Morley seemed a prey to unusual sadness, and as she caressed his hand kindly from time to time, and while her gentle eyes filled alternately with pensive tenderness or sparkling animation, she could barely obtain a response to her inquiries; for now that the voyage was ended, that their dangers were over, and all excitement had passed away, he felt a melancholy that he could not overcome, and against which he struggled in vain. This emotion was very natural. He knew not what was before him now in this strange land--this half-French colony, where on the morrow he would find himself without a shilling in his pocket.

Hesitatingly, and while his now weather-beaten cheek glowed with honest shame, he said something of this to Ethel; but she sought to cheer him, and added that his friends, Captain Bartelot, the Scotch mate Morrison, and old Noah were precisely in the same predicament, yet they were all merry as crickets, whistling and singing, while, with the three men of the Scotch ship, they hoisted the great rusty anchors over the bows.

"Ah, Ethel, do not smile as if you would mock me," said Morley, with unwonted irritation; "it is our, or rather my, uncertain fortune that haunts and galls me now."

He knew, beyond a doubt, that the doctor would marry Rose as soon as he could rejoin her, or get quit of the ship; Morley knew that Heriot had his profession, a moderate competence, and excellent monetary prospects; but what had he?

Mr. Basset's health was so hopelessly impaired by all he had undergone as to preclude any chance of his assuming his legal functions, or, indeed, doing more in the matter of his judgeship than simply to resign it on landing.

His local influence would thus be dissipated, and already he spoke of returning to England on the first suitable opportunity, resolving to pass the remainder of his days there, even with his crippled means; so, after all they had endured, Morley and Ethel, as they gazed mournfully and tenderly into each other's eyes, felt that the course of true love was as unlike a railway as possible.

But now the sails were handed, the anchor let go with a plunge into the seething flood, and exactly three months and fourteen days from the time of her leaving the London Docks, the _Hermione_ swung at her moorings in the harbour of Port Louis, distant only a few fathoms from her late companion and protector, the stately ship of Alloa.

Quarantine laws, custom-house harpies, and all such necessary annoyances satisfied, the ship brokers came on board, and one of them brought for Mr. Basset a packet of letters, which had arrived fully a fortnight before, by a passing ship.

There were letters for Ethel and Rose, from Jack and Lucy Page, and other dear friends at Acton-Rennel, full of home gossip, all of vast interest to them now; and there were some very business-like documents "for papa," who carefully wiped his gold spectacles prior to reading them; while Morley, who had not a friend in England, felt bitterly there was nothing for him; so he slunk, as he thought, unnoticed on deck, to watch the bustle of the port and shipping, and to forget even himself, if he could, for a time.

The contents of his two first letters certainly made Mr. Basset stare very much, and wipe his glasses again, ere he read them a second time, and fairly took in the full meaning of their contents.

They were from his old friend, the M.P. for Acton-Rennel, who had procured him the now useless judgeship, and from his solicitor in Westminster, informing him that, by two most unexpected deaths, Ethel and Rose, in right of their deceased mother, had become rich--quite heiresses in fact, of not less than three thousand pounds each, yearly, in government securities and other investments; full particulars of which would be forwarded by the next mail.

Ethel sat for a time like one bewitched, on hearing this.

Then, after Mr. Basset had explained it all to her, she hurried on deck to where Morley Ashton, with his head between his hands, was gazing moodily and dreamily over the gunwale, at the slime and ooze under the ship's counter; and caring little whether she were seen or not, she stole one arm tenderly round his neck, and whispered in his ear the story of their good fortune, adding that now she could reward him for all his love and faith, and for all he had endured: and more than once she had to repeat all this, ere she was fully understood by the poor bewildered fellow.

Thus, from a state of uncertainty, doubt, utter despondency at times, was Morley Ashton rewarded, indeed, for all he had undergone. The wheel of fortune had revolved completely in his favour, and he felt raised "to the seventh heaven" by Ethel's happy news.

So they were now safe, rich, and happy, with their dearest wishes about to be realised!

All around them seemed to be joyous and sunshiny. All so quiet, so still, and yet such happiness was theirs!

Their double separation, the sorrow of Morley's supposed death, his detention at Rio, and his sufferings on the wreck; the mutiny, and the piratical Malays; the entire past, with all its terrible contingencies--where was it now?

Gone indeed, and to be forgotten!

The future--oh, they had no fears for it; the present, the glorious, blissful present, was alone to be considered. And so thought Ethel Basset, as on the last evening they were to spend in the cabin of the _Hermione_ she sat hand in hand with Morley, and alone, her head reclined upon his shoulder, and his arm caressingly around her, as they whispered of the arrangements they were to make at home, and how they would have Laurel Lodge again, with papa to care for, and how Rose and Leslie Heriot would have one of those pretty new villas with the green blinds and plate-glass windows at Cherrywood Hill.

Inquiries concerning, or, as the Scots say, "anent" the loss of the _Princess_, and the marooning of the crew of the _Hermione_ in the Mozambique Channel, were duly conducted by Captain Sir Horace Seymour, of H.M.S. _Clyde_, and the nautical assessor of the Board of Trade at Port Louis, and the decision of the court freed our friends Bartelot and Phillips from all blame, their captains' certificates being returned to them by Sir Horace Seymour, with many complimentary remarks.

Mr. Basset resigned his appointment into the hands of the Governor, and prepared to return to England; but as there is no true happiness without alloy, Heriot could not procure a substitute or successor, and so, when the _Hermione_ was refitted and fully manned, he found himself compelled to sail with her to Singapore.

Morrison went with her as chief mate, and Mr. Foster as second, and she sailed out of Port Louis, dipping adieux with her ensign, and firing her carronades in gallant style, old Captain Phillips and poor Heriot continuing to wave their hats so long as two figures in light dresses were visible on the mole.

Poor little Rose shed abundance of tears. She thought herself Virginia torn from her Paul, and the most ill-used young lady in the world. She moped for a long time, and gave up her diary; it was no use now, when she was so soon to see Lucy Page again.

We need not detail how, prior to their departure, many a picnic was made to all the places consecrated by the loves of Paul and Virginia, and how many a sketch was made in Ethel's portfolio of the Shaddock Grove, the marvellous Petterbotte, and other places.

Tom Bartelot was to return to England with them, and get another ship.

Noah had been offered a berth on board the _Hermione_, but he declined.

"No more marchantmen for me," said he; "I'm for the Queen's sarvice, so long as I can lift tack or sheet, hand or foot; then Grinnidge arter."

So he shipped on board the _Clyde_, which about this time steamed away towards the mouth of the Mozambique Channel, in search of the pirates, who had again made their appearance in several proas.

Noah acted as a species of guide; but no trace of their presence could be found in that quarter, save the bare, bleached skull of poor old Captain Puffadder, whose agency in our friends' escape had been discovered by the Malays, and who had been buried by them up to his neck in sand on the seashore, and left thus to perish under the advancing tide, like the famous Wigton martyrs of the delirious sheriff of Dumfries.

Notices will be found in the various newspapers of that month, stating that, in north latitude 27 deg. 30 min., and east longitude 40 deg. 10 min., near the Europa Rocks, H.M.S. _Clyde_ picked up a boat, with two dead bodies in it. One was evidently that of a South American, with rings in his ears; the other was of great stature, and supposed to be a Yankee seaman.

Noah declared them to be Zuares Barradas and Badger, from Cape Cod--the last of the mutineers. By a curious coincidence, one of these papers paragraphed that the Portuguese at Tristan d'Acunha were building a chapel over the grave of the elder Barradas, who among them has the reputation of such great sanctity, that his island is now the scene of annual summer pilgrimages.