The Pirate Island: A Story of the South Pacific

by Harry Collingwood

“I have no objection to tell you,” answered Blanche. “It occurred very shortly after I was born. My uncle was then a younger son, with very little expectation of ever succeeding to the baronetcy, for there were two brothers older than himself, and he had a captain’s commission in the army. He had married a lady of whom, because she happened to have no money, his father strongly disapproved, and a serious quarrel between father and son was the consequence.

“Shortly after his marriage my uncle’s regiment was ordered off to North America, and uncle Dick naturally took his wife with him. The regiment was moved about from place to place, and finally, when my uncle had been married about three years, was broken up into detachments; that which he commanded being sent, in consequence of some trouble with the Indians, to an important military outpost at a considerable distance up the Ottawa River.

“Of course it was quite impossible for my aunt to accompany her husband into the wilds, especially as she was then the mother of a son some eighteen months old, and the question which arose was, What was she to do?

“It was at first proposed that she should establish herself in Montreal until the return of the expedition; but a letter reaching her just at that time stating that her mother’s health was failing, it was hastily decided that my aunt should return to England, taking of course her little son with her.

“Everything had to be done in a great hurry, and my uncle had barely time to pack his wife’s boxes and see her safely en route for Montreal before he set out with his detachment for the post to which he had been ordered.

“My aunt arrived safely at Montreal, but failing to find there a ship ready to sail for England, went on to Quebec, which she reached just in time to embark for London. She had written to my uncle from Montreal, and she wrote again from Quebec, the letter reaching her husband’s hands as he was on the point of marching out of the fort on a night expedition against a band of hostile Indians who had been discovered in the neighbourhood.

“An engagement took place, in which my uncle was desperately wounded and narrowly escaped falling into the hands of the Indians. His men succeeded, however, in saving him and making good their own retreat into the fort, where poor uncle Dick lay hovering for weeks between life and death. After a long and weary struggle his splendid constitution triumphed; and with the return of consciousness came anxious thoughts respecting his wife and child. He remembered the letter which had been handed to him as he marched out upon that ill-starred expedition, the letter which he had never had an opportunity to read, and he made eager inquiries respecting it. It was found in an inner breast-pocket of his uniform coat, but it had been so thoroughly saturated with his own blood, poor fellow, that it was practically undecipherable; by careful soaking and washing he at last succeeded in ascertaining that my aunt and her baby had actually sailed from Quebec, but on what date or in what ship it was quite impossible to learn. And that was the last news he ever heard of them.”

“How very dreadful!” murmured Lance. “Of course he made every possible inquiry respecting their fate?”

“Not immediately,” answered Blanche. “He waited patiently for news of my aunt’s arrival in England; but as mail after mail came without bringing him any intelligence he grew uneasy, and finally wrote to his mother-in-law asking an explanation of the unaccountable silence. This letter remained unanswered; but just when his uneasiness had increased to such a pitch that he had determined to apply for leave of absence in order to proceed to England, it was returned to him through the dead-letter office. This decided him at once. He applied for leave and it was refused. He then threw up his commission, and at once proceeded to England; the fearful conviction growing upon him that something dreadful had happened. He stopped at Quebec for a fortnight on his way home, making inquiry at all the ship-owners’ and brokers’ offices in the place, endeavouring to learn the name of the ship in which his wife had been a passenger; but, strange to say, he could gain no trace of them. Whether it was that the people of whom he inquired were careless and indifferent, or whether it was that passenger-lists were not at that time regularly kept as they now are, it is of course impossible to say, but it is a fact that he was compelled to leave America without the smallest scrap of information respecting his dear ones beyond that contained in the blood-stained letter.

“On his arrival in England he proceeded direct to his mother-in-law’s former residence, to find it, as he feared, in the possession of strangers. He then, with considerable difficulty, hunted up the lawyer who had managed Mrs Percival’s (his mother-in-law’s) money matters, and learned from him that the old lady had died some seven months before. And in reply to his further inquiries he was informed that his wife and child had never reached Mrs Percival’s home. The old lady had certainly expected them, the lawyer said, but she had never received more than one letter which my uncle had hurriedly written mentioning the fact of their departure for England.