Five minutes later the chief mate emerged from the companion, and, walking up to George, observed—
“Well, sir, you’ve managed to make a pretty effectual end of the buccaneer, I see.”
“Yes,” answered George gravely. “The schooner struck; but we are much too short-handed to take and retain possession of such a craft as that, so, as I did not feel justified in leaving them at liberty to resume their nefarious business, I continued to fire into the schooner, intending to sink her; and I am of opinion that her captain, recognising the fact that escape was hopeless, blew her up with his own hand, hoping to involve us in the destruction also. It was a terrible thing, Mr Bowen, to cause the loss of so many lives, but I am convinced that I only did my duty. And now, as there seems to be no immediate prospect of our falling in with the fleet again, I propose to take full advantage of this fine fair wind, and proceed upon my voyage; so please pack on the ship everything that will draw; then let the men clear up the decks, and knock off work; they have had two very fatiguing days, and have fought well; let them get all the rest they possibly can between this and to-morrow morning.”
When the sun set that evening, the Aurora was flying to the southward and westward (as if instinct with life and thrilling with horror at her terrible achievement) before the freshening gale at the rate of fully twelve knots per hour, with studding-sails set on both sides, alow and aloft; while her crew, assembled on the forecastle, discussed in low tones the incidents of the fight, and her skipper, with hands clasped behind him, bent head, and furrowed brow, held solemn self-communion upon the same subject.
George Leicester now found himself at liberty to attend to his guest, and he spent almost the whole of his leisure time by the side of Walford’s cot. For the first week after the arrival of the latter on board the Aurora very little change or improvement could be detected in him; his mental faculties seemed to be almost paralysed; and he would lie in his cot for hours at a time, with wide-opened eyes, staring into vacancy, the blank, expressionless look upon his face betraying the utter inactivity of his mind. Then there would occur a short period, during which it seemed that memory was struggling to re-assert itself; he would glance vacantly round the cosy sleeping-cabin in which he found himself, a look of mild surprise would overspread his features, and he would pass his hand over his brow with the action of one who is trying to remember something; then would recur another vacant period.
During all this time he never expressed a wish or uttered a single coherent word; only occasionally, when the memory was struggling to regain its seat, he would mutter a few incoherent words, that of “murder” being sometimes repeated, in low tones of suppressed horror, half-a-dozen times together. His appetite appeared to be good, since he ate and drank freely whatever was offered him; but if the food was withheld, as it sometimes was, by way of experiment, at Captain Leicester’s order, he never asked for it, or evinced any surprise or uneasiness at its non-appearance.
About the tenth day, however, after the one on which he had been picked up, George thought he detected signs of improvement. The periods of thinking were more frequent and more prolonged, and once during that day, when the skipper entered the cabin, Walford noticed the opening of the door, and, turning his eyes in that direction, regarded George for some moments with a steadfast inquiring look; but the recognition, if such there was, was momentary only, the hand was pressed meditatively to the forehead the next instant, and then the blank look returned.
The next day witnessed a recurrence of the same symptoms, added to which there seemed to be a vague sort of semi-recognition of George’s voice; for, whenever the latter spoke, Walford would look up with an anxious questioning glance, as though he had an idea that he had heard the voice before.
Finally, on that same evening, when George and Mr Bowen were in the saloon together, chatting over the tea-table, the after-cabin door being open, so as to insure a current of air through the apartment, Walford, who had been asleep, suddenly started up in his cot with the exclamation—
“Surely that is Leicester’s voice?”