As may be supposed, the whole party were early astir next morning; Nicholls and Simpson wending their way to the woods to collect a stock of fruit for the first few days of the voyage, while Flora prepared breakfast, and Leslie overhauled the entire camp to satisfy himself that he was not leaving behind him anything that would be of material service to him. There were a few trifling matters that, at the last moment, he decided to take; and these he put into the barque’s dinghy and thus carried off to the cutter. By the time that he was back the two men had returned, laden with quite as much fruit as could be conveniently stowed away aboard so small a craft as the Flora; and this also they carried off and put on board. Then came breakfast—their last meal on the island, and a happy, hilarious meal it was.
Then, leaving everything just as it was, they all went down to the beach and stepped into the barque’s gig, in which they pulled alongside the cutter. Arrived there, they dropped overboard a heavy “killick” of rock which they had previously attached to the boat’s painter, and thus anchored her in readiness for the Minerva’s crew whenever they might choose to fetch her. To set the cutter’s canvas was the work of a few minutes, and, this done, the anchor was quickly hove up and the little craft got under way. On their way out of the lagoon they tacked close under the Minerva’s stern, receiving a cheery farewell hail of “A quick and pleasant passage to you!” from Marshall, who was walking the poop while his scanty crew were getting some water-casks into the longboat; and ten minutes later they dashed through the entrance channel, and found themselves riding buoyantly over the long undulations of the Pacific swell, as Leslie bore away to pass to the northward of the island and thence west over the interminable miles of water that lay between them and home.
My story is told; for with the voyage of the Flora, adventurous though it was, this narrative has nothing to do; suffice it to say that having called at Tahiti and Tongatabu the little cutter safely passed Port Phillip Heads and arrived at Melbourne on the fifty-third day out from the island. Here Leslie duly cashed his draft for one hundred pounds, and with the proceeds thereof secured for Flora a passage to Bombay, that young lady having decided to go on at once to her father—without waiting to visit her Australian friends—in order that the judge’s natural anxiety to see his daughter after her singular adventure might be gratified with as little delay as possible. And further to curtail that anxiety to its lowest limit, she despatched a cablegram to her father within an hour of her arrival in Melbourne. As for Dick, he allowed his affairs to stand during the two days that elapsed between their arrival and Flora’s departure, devoting himself entirely to her.
But as soon as he had waved his last good-bye to her, he went to his hotel and wrote a long letter to his father’s lawyers, detailing at length the events that had transpired subsequent to the wreck of the Golden Fleece, including the discovery and appropriation of the treasure, and of his intention to take it home in the cutter; leaving to their discretion the decision whether or no they would communicate the information to his father. And, thin done, he forthwith re-victualled and re-watered the Flora, and cleared for Capetown, which was to be his next port of call.
It was drawing on toward three o’clock in the afternoon of a glorious spring day when the cutter-yacht Flora, from Funchal, homeward-bound, came sliding unobtrusively into Weymouth harbour, where, having taken in her thin and almost worn-out sails, she modestly moored among a number of other yachts under the Nothe. Perhaps it was her somewhat dingy and weatherworn appearance that caused her crew to avoid attracting to her any unnecessary attention, or possibly it may have been some other reason; at all events, to all inquisitive inquiries the bronzed and bearded trio who manned her merely replied that they had “been cruising to the south’ard.” To the custom-house officers they had of course to be a little more explicit; but even they were satisfied when, after a careful search of the craft’s tiny cabins and forecastle, they were invited to sample a bottle of choice Madeira, on some four or five dozen of which Leslie willingly paid duty. The next day her sails were unbent and she was taken up the Backwater and laid up, in charge of Simpson; and a month or two later her ballast was taken out of her and stowed away in a shed under which she also was hauled up. A certain portion of this ballast was soon afterwards packed up somewhat carefully and conveyed to London by train; and eventually the little craft was sold.
Meanwhile, however, Leslie had despatched a wire to his father’s solicitors, announcing his arrival home; and that same evening he received a reply requesting him to go to town and call at the office of the senders on the following day without fail, as they had intelligence of the utmost importance to communicate to him.
Of course he went; and upon his arrival was at once ushered into a private room. There was but one individual in the apartment, a tall, handsome, grey-headed old gentleman of most aristocratic appearance, who rose to his feet in much agitation as Dick entered.
“Father!” cried the younger man, in the utmost astonishment. “My son!” exclaimed the elder; and their hands locked in a grip that was far more expressive than many words.
“Dick, my son,” at length exclaimed the Earl, when he had sufficiently overcome his agitation to speak, “let me be the first to congratulate you. Your innocence has been fully proved!”
A month later the man whom we have known as Dick Leslie was once more afloat, and on his way to Bombay on board a P. and O. liner.