I had said that I should pin my faith principally to the Maxims, if it came to a fight, and so I fully meant to do; at the same time, I by no means overlooked the fact that a four-inch shell or two might prove very convincing arguments, under certain conditions. I therefore began my preparations by conveying eight shells and a corresponding number of cartridges up on deck and loading them into the eight main-deck guns that still remained to us, after carefully sponging out the latter. Next, I gave my attention to the Maxims, preparing them for action with meticulous care, overhauling, cleaning, and oiling the mechanism of them, satisfying myself that they were in perfect working order, placing a belt of cartridges in position in each, and taking care to have an abundant supply of relays in hand. While doing all these things I kept one eye pretty constantly upon the junk, in the hope that she would respond to the display of our ensign by hoisting some sort of signal which I might interpret as that of a friend coming to our rescue in answer to our appeals for help. But she showed no bunting beyond a small whiff at her mainmast head, which meant nothing.
Having prepared our artillery, I next turned my attention to the subject of magazine rifles, a dozen of which I brought up on deck. These I loaded and laid handy on the poop, near the Maxims, with a box of cartridges, although I doubted whether, after all our other weapons had played their part, there would be much opportunity to use them. Finally I produced and loaded six revolvers, two of which I thrust into the belt of a cutlass girded round my waist, while the other four I designed for the use of the women in the last dreadful resort. The boy I did not greatly trouble about, feeling pretty certain that he would look after himself.
I had finished all my preparations, and was sitting on the poop rail, intently scanning the slowly approaching junk through the ship’s telescope, and taking due note of such details and particulars as were thus brought within my ken, when the slight rustle of feminine garments at my side caused me to lower the glass. Mrs Vansittart was standing at my elbow. She was still very pale, and her eyelids were swollen and red with recent weeping, but she smiled wanly as she offered me her hand.
“Walter,” she said, and there was a tremor in her voice as she spoke, while the blood surged up into her cheeks for a moment—“I want to apologise. I am afraid—”
“No, certainly not, dear lady!” I cried, seizing her hand; “you must not dream of such a thing. On the contrary, it is for me to apologise to you for my sudden and violent ebullition of temper; and I do, most heartily. I cannot imagine what it was that possessed me just then, but—”
Her smile broadened and brightened a little as she raised her left hand to silence me.
“You must let me speak, Walter—let me say what I want to say,” she resumed. “Anthea has been talking to me, and she said things that have opened my eyes to what I fear I must call my own folly. She has made me see that I have been altogether wrong in my attitude toward Julius. She has shown me that in the blindness and intensity of my affection for him—he is my only son, you know, Walter—I have indulged him and allowed him to have his own way in everything to such an extent that, unless we are all very careful, he will be utterly spoiled, ruined, and rendered totally unfit to go out into the world and take a worthy place there when the time comes for him to do so. There have been occasions before to-day when I have been troubled by suspicions that something was going wrong with the dear boy, that I was not doing my duty toward him as a wise mother should, but it was not until within the last half-hour that my eyes have been completely opened; and now I intend to adopt an entirely different attitude toward him. But the trouble is that I don’t know how to set about it. How were you brought up, Walter?”
I could not avoid smiling at the naïvété of this question, yet I could also sympathise with the questioner.
“Well,” said I, “naturally I loved my parents, and they as naturally loved me, but they never allowed their affection to blind them to the little childish faults and failings which, like all other children, I suppose, I soon developed; and they diligently devoted themselves to the task of checking these, so that in addition to loving my parents I was soon taught to honour and obey them. Then, when I was five years old, I was sent to school, where, mixing with other boys, any especial conceit of myself that I might have had was quickly nipped in the bud. At school, in addition to a fair, useful education, I was taught to reverence and respect my seniors and superiors, to be obedient, to submit to discipline, to be honest and truthful, to despise selfishness and viciousness, to fear God and honour the king. That, in brief, was the way of my bringing up, Mrs Vansittart. And although many of the things that I learned had to be hammered into me with a cane wielded by a willing and vigorous arm, I can truthfully assert that I am not a whit the worse, but rather the better for it to-day.”
My companion regarded me smilingly for some moments. Then she said: