Having completed my inspection of the decks, and satisfied myself that everything was all right, I called the boatswain aft to take temporary charge, and then entered the drawing-room, intending to pass through it to the door of Mrs Vansittart’s cabin, to make my report. But on entering the apartment I was surprised to find the lady seated there, fully dressed, and evidently waiting with some impatience for news. As I advanced she rose to her feet and held out her hand to me.
“Well, Walter,” she exclaimed, “it is all over—the dreadful fighting, I mean—and you are unhurt. Is it not so?” Then, as I briefly replied in the affirmative, she continued: “But why are you looking so serious? And why have you come to me instead of Mr Kennedy? I most sincerely hope that nothing dreadful has happened.”
“We have got off much more easily than at one moment I dared to hope,” I said. “But I grieve to inform you that the fight has cost us the life of one man, and he the man whom we can least of all afford to lose. You will guess at once that I mean poor Kennedy, who was killed by a round shot—the only shot that did any damage worth mentioning.”
For a moment Mrs Vansittart seemed scarcely able to credit my news. I believe that up to then she had never quite realised the fact of our peril; but now that one of our men had actually lost his life it was suddenly brought home to her with startling vividness, and she was correspondingly upset. She stared at me unbelievingly, gasped: “What? Neil Kennedy killed? Oh, Walter, you cannot possibly mean it!” and then, as I nodded my head, she sank back into her chair and burst into tears. I thought it best to let her have her cry out in peace, for tears seem to be the natural safety valve of a woman’s emotions; and while she sat there with her face buried in her hands and the tears streaming through her fingers, Miss Anthea, Monroe, and Julius came up from below. Of course they all wanted to know what was the matter, and I was obliged to explain. In the course of the explanation, which took something of the form of a brief narrative of the entire adventure, I happened to remark:
“What puzzles me more than anything is how it happened that those fellows were able to find us so accurately on so dark a night. I took the greatest care to mask all our lights effectually; yet when we first sighted them they were heading as straight for us as if we were in plain sight.”
“And so we were,” remarked Monroe; “for which we have to thank our young friend Julius, here. When, in obedience to his mother’s command, I took him below to his cabin before the fight began, I not only found the open port of his cabin uncovered, but all three of the electric-lights ablaze, so that the port must have shown up in the dark like a lighthouse. The young gentleman explained to me that he couldn’t sleep because of the heat, and had therefore been reading in bed!”