“DISTRESSING CASUALTY.—The ship Java, which left Sydney on the 5th of August last, reports a stormy passage. On the 12th of September a distressing casualty occurred. They were in S. lat. 11° 1’ 22”, E. long. 105° 6’ 36”, when a squall suddenly struck the ship. A passenger, Louis Brandon, Esq., of the firm of Compton & Brandon, Sydney, was standing by the lee-quarter as the squall struck, and, distressing to narrate, he was hurled violently overboard. It was impossible to do any thing, as a monsoon was beginning, which raged for twenty-four hours. Mr. Brandon was coming to England on business.
“The captain reports a sand-bank in the latitude and longitude indicated above, which he names ‘Coffin Island,’ from a rock of peculiar shape at the eastern extremity. Ships will do well in future to give this place a wide berth.”
Deep despondency came over Mrs. Thornton’s face as she read this. “We can do nothing,” said she, mournfully. “He is gone. It is better for him. We must now wait till we hear more from Paolo. I will write to him at once.”
“And I will write to my uncle.”
There was a long silence. “Do you know,” said Despard, finally, “that I have been thinking much about my father of late. It seems very strange to me that my uncle never told me about that Sicilian affair before. Perhaps he did not wish me to know it, for fear that through all my life I should brood over thoughts of that noble heart lost to me forever. But I intend to write to him, and obtain afresh the particulars of his death. I wish to know more about my mother. No one was ever in such ignorance of his parents as I have been. They merely told me that my father and mother died suddenly in India, and left me an orphan at the age of seven under the care of Mr. Henry Thornton. They never told me that Brandon was a very dear friend of his. I have thought also of the circumstances of his death, and they all seem confused. Some say he died in Calcutta, others say in China, and Mr. Thornton once said in Manilla. There is some mystery about it.”
“When Brandon was visiting my father,” said Mrs. Thornton, “you were at school, and he never saw you. I think he thought you were Henry Despard’s son.”
“There’s some mystery about it,” said Despard, thoughtfully.
When Mr. Thornton came in that night he read a few extracts from the London paper which he had just received. One was as follows:
“FOUNDERED AT SEA.—The ship H. B. Smith, from Calcutta, which arrived yesterday, reports that on the 28th January they picked up a ship’s long-boat near the Cape Verd Islands. It was floating bottom upward. On the stern was painted the word Falcon. The ship Falcon has now been expected for two months, and it is feared from this that she may have foundered at sea. The Falcon was on her way from Sydney to London, and belonged to Messrs. Kingwood, Flaxman, & Co.”