Commodore Junk

But it was so. Humphrey Armstrong was not content without Bart or Dinny at his side all through his severe illness, which lasted till they were nearing home.

During the voyage he learned by degrees the whole history of the escape of the relics of his crew, consequent upon the division in the camp and the chaotic state of discipline which obtained among the buccaneers during the latter days. He heard more, too, of their struggles to reach a port, and of the rescue which had been planned and successfully carried out.

One evening as Humphrey Armstrong sat on deck wondering to himself that he could be so changed as to look with distaste upon the western shores of England, gilded by the evening sun, he became conscious of another presence close behind, and looking sharply round it was to see the haggard, worn face of Bart as he stood there, bent and terribly changed by mental suffering, and his wounds.

As he saw Humphrey Armstrong gaze wonderingly at him he raised one hand and pointed to the dimly-seen cliff line, ruddy in the western glow.

“Home, sir,” he cried, hoarsely.

“Yes, Bart, home,” said Humphrey, gloomily. “What are you going to do!”

“You know best, sir. Prison, or the rope!”

Humphrey started sadly, and held out his hand, which the rough fellow, after a momentary hesitation, took.

“Bart, my lad,” said Humphrey, “why not take the old cottage and settle down to your former life! I should like it if you’d do this thing. Will you!”

“Will I!” said the poor fellow in suffocating tones. “God bless you, sir! You’ve made me happier than I ever hoped to be again.”

“Take it or buy it, Bart, as soon as you reach home. I wish it done, only it is to be kept unchanged, as we two keep her secret.”

A fortnight had passed, during which period Humphrey Armstrong had kept himself quite in seclusion, when in obedience to a stern resolve he journeyed slowly up to town.

He had good excuse for his dilatory ways, being still far from strong; but now he was bound on the task of performing what he told himself was his duty – that of going straight to Lady Jenny Wildersey, confessing every thing in an open, manly way, and begging her to set him free from the engagement he had made.

“I could not marry such a woman now,” he said to himself again and again; “she would drive me mad!”

It was a hard struggle, but he was determined to carry it through, and one morning he crossed the Park and the Mall, and made his way straight into Saint James’s Square.

Everything looked the same, except himself, for he was bronzed and worn, and his countenance displayed a scar. But he was as brightly dressed as on the day he called to say fare well, for he had had to attend at the admiral’s to give an account of his proceedings, and had found, to his surprise, that not only was the loss of his ship condoned by the complete rooting out of the buccaneers, but he had been promoted, and was shortly to engage in another expedition, this time to the East.

Saint James’s Square looked just as of old, and the same servant opened to his hasty knock and met him with a smile.

He had come without sending notice, and he had made no inquiry since his landing, telling himself that it was better so; and now, strung up for his painful task, he strode into the great marble-paved hall.

“Ask Lady Jenny if she will see me – a private interview,” he said to the ponderous old butler who came forward as the footman closed the door.

“Lady Jenny, sir? The countess is at the lakes with his lordship.”

“The countess! I said Lady Jenny.”

“Yes, sir,” said the old butler with a smile. “We always speak of her young ladyship now as the countess.”

“The countess! Why, you don’t mean – ”

“Yes, sir; she was married to the Earl of Winterleyton a year ago, sir. His lordship’s town house is a hundred and ten Queen Square, and Hallybury, Bassenthwaite, sir.”

“Oh!” said Humphrey, calmly; “I have been to the West Indies, and had not heard the news.”

He nodded good-humouredly to the old butler, and went off across the square.

“Now, it’s my belief,” said the old butler, “that he’s another on ’em as her young ladyship was always a-leading on!”

“Thank Heaven!” said Humphrey, with a sigh of relief; and he went and behaved like an Englishman, for he walked straight to his club, ordered his dinner, and for the first time for months thoroughly enjoyed it; while as he sat afterwards over the remains of his bottle of fine old Carbonell port – a wine that was likely to restore some of the lost blood to his veins – he filled his glass slowly, thought of his next expedition, and that it with its earnest work would be the best remedy for a mind diseased, and made up his mind that if he could persuade him to leave his newly-made wife he would have Dinny for one of his men.

“And old Bart, too, if he will serve,” he said half aloud. Then two or three times over, as a pretty, powdered-and-painted image, all silk and gewgaws and flowers, filled his imagination, “What a release! Thank Heaven!”

At last there was but one glass left in the bottle, and raising the handled basket in which it reclined, he carefully poured it out, and held it up, seeming to see in the candle-lit, ruby rays a torrid land, a sun-browned face, and two dark, imploring eyes gazing into his till they grew dewy, and all around him seemed to be blurred and dim. He was almost alone in the great club-room, for the various diners had risen and gone, and for the time being the long, gloomy place seemed to be the old prison chamber, with its stone altar and great carven idol gazing stolidly down upon him as he said softly:

“Mary Dell! True woman! I shall never love again!”

He drained the glass to the memory of Commodore Junk, and, stubborn Englishman to the last, he kept his word.

The End