Chapter Twenty Two.
“All’s Well that Ends Well.”
The anchors were no sooner on the bottom than George found himself a busy man. There were certain authorities to be communicated with as to the disposal of the French prisoners, other authorities to be consulted as to the disposal of the pirates, and still others, again, to be seen and arranged with as to the disposal of the prizes. Then there were the owners of the Vulcan to be dealt with in the matter of the salvage of that vessel, so that, altogether, he was kept going to and fro from morning until night.
Then there was Lucy to be called upon. But knowing—or thinking he knew—that the sad news he had to communicate would go far toward breaking the heart of the poor girl, he eagerly availed himself of every excuse which offered, to defer his visit; and so it happened that whilst Lucy—who had heard, with astonishment and joy unspeakable, the news of his strange reappearance and good fortune—waited impatiently for the longed-for visit, George was postponing it day after day, until nearly a fortnight had passed.
And in truth he was so worried and harassed with unexpected difficulties that, even if he could have found the time, he lacked the heart for such a call. To his intense surprise, he learned that, though he had arrived at Spithead with three ships, neither of them belonged to him. To begin with, the Virginie, having been captured whilst her captors were under the protection of a convoying squadron, was claimed as being actually the prize of that squadron, though not one of the ships belonging to it had fired a shot or struck a blow to aid in the capture. Then, as to the Aurora, having not only bought and paid, but also fought, for her, George was strongly of opinion that she at least was his. But, here again, it appeared that he was mistaken. She had been taken from him by pirates, and had been out of his possession more than twenty-four hours: she was therefore, de facto, a pirate, and the lawful prize of the Virginie, or rather, of the Virginie’s owners, namely, the convoying fleet aforesaid. And the same reasoning applied with equal effect to the Cigne. The naval authorities certainly were good enough to admit that George and his crew were, in virtue of their having been the actual captors of these vessels, entitled to a certain moderate share of the prize-money accruing therefrom, but further than that they would not go.
But if George found himself a busy man, he also found himself—outside the circle ruled by official jealousy—famous. The story, not only of his gallant achievements, but also of his misfortunes, leaked out, as such stories will; and he soon found himself a much-sought-after man, quite a lion, in fact. To such an extent, indeed, was this the case, that even the curiosity of royalty itself was aroused, and in the very midst of all his perplexities Leicester received a summons to present himself at court. This summons George of course dutifully and promptly obeyed, and whilst there not only told the whole story of his adventures, but also laid before his most gracious Majesty the grievances from which he considered himself to be suffering. He was well rewarded for his pains; for, when the king came to be fully informed of the details of the case, he took the matter in hand himself, with the result that a speedy and, on the whole, fairly satisfactory settlement was arrived at. He was also offered a commission in the navy, his Majesty sagely remarking that so good a man ought to be serving his country in some better way than by commanding a mere merchant-ship, and this time George was sensible enough to accept the offer. At his suggestion a commission was also offered to and accepted by Bowen.
All this business being at length satisfactorily concluded, George had no further excuse for shunning Sea View, and accordingly, on the first opportunity, he set out with considerable perturbation of spirit for Alverstoke.
It was about seven o’clock in the evening, and quite dark when George reached the house, and, passing through the gate, strode up the well-remembered pathway, and administered a sounding rat-tat at the door. A smart, fresh-looking maid-servant answered the summons, and, on his inquiry for Miss Walford, showed him into the familiar parlour, and asked for his name.
“Captain Leicester,” answered George.