“No,” said the captain; “we have a stout little well-tried vessel beneath our feet, and the next land I hope to tread is that at Singapore.”
There was no further difficulty in this project, for the wind was favourable, and the dark cloud that overhung the island soon sank below the horizon, though during the following night a distant sound, as of cannonading, told that the explosion was still going on.
Captain Strong’s navigation during the next few days was a good deal by guesswork, and consisted in making all the headway he could westward. At the end of the fifth day, however, a large steamer was made out going east, and in answer to their signals she hove to; and upon going on board the captain for the first time learned their position. This proved to be about midway between Sumatra and Borneo, and the island lay to the south-east as far as could be judged, though the officers of the great steamer could not give it a name.
Nothing could exceed the kindness of the captain and officers, and at their special request the major, and his wife and daughter, continued their voyage in the steamer, which was bound for Canton, from which place, if the steamer did not touch at it, the major would have no difficulty in reaching his original destination.
It was rather a painful parting, the major gripping the hands of Captain Strong and Mark very firmly as he said “good-bye;” while Mrs O’Halloran and Mary displayed for the first time the womanly weakness that their education as soldier’s wife and daughter taught them to hide.
“Good-bye, my brave boy!” the major’s wife cried. “Someday I hope we shall come back to England, and then we can go over our island troubles all again.”
She kissed him very tenderly as she finished speaking; and then came Mark’s parting from Mary—a true frank boy and girl parting, in the hope that some day they might meet again.
An hour later Mark was standing alone on the deck of the cutter, fancying he could still hear the O’Hallorans’ words as he watched the hull of the steamer growing more distant, and her dense smoke trailing behind for miles.
“Life is made up of meetings and partings, Mark, my lad,” said the captain. “That has been a pleasant friendship, and some day we shall meet again.”
Mark sighed, and went to sit by his mother and watch the sunlit sea, for the cutter seemed to have grown dull and empty, and the gambols of Bruff, and the pranks of Jack fell as flat as the cheery words of Billy Widgeon and the stowaway.