I shall not describe the grief of honest Callum, or the terror of Laura Everingham, who during the past conflict had been seated, pale and in tears, in the cabin of the yacht; nor her cry of anguish, on seeing the poor young officer of the Highlanders, who had come so miraculously to their aid, borne senseless and bleeding into her father's cabin; nor shall I attempt to detail her wild glance and speechless astonishment, when the blunt baronet returned to tell her 'that this unfortunate fellow was no other than Allan Mac Innon, the son of old Glen Ora, the wild Highland boy she had known at home!' * * * * * *
It was long before poor Laura could realize the truth of this information, or the terrible tidings of Clavering's death, which, after the hurly-burly was over, she learned from Jack Belton and Callum Dhu next morning.
CHAPTER LIX.
A GLEAM OF OTHER DAYS.
The firing which we had heard on coming in sight of the yacht was caused by Sir Horace, who, to soothe his impatience, had been discharging his carronades. Moreover, from an old Greek pilot, who dwelt on the little isle of Coudouri, he had received some hints, that unless the yacht was speedily got to sea, she might be attacked some night and plundered.
In this affair several of the yachts-men were killed, and several severely wounded; but all the Highlanders escaped, save Donald Roy, who had one of his bare legs slashed by a yataghan; the son of old Ian Mac Raonuil, who received a pistol-shot through the left shoulder, and another lad from my glen, a son of Alisdair Mac Gouran, who was bruised by a musket-butt; but the surgeon of the Mahmoudieh, the Turkish steamer, which came in a day or two after, and who proved to be a clever Milanese, soon put all our cuts and scars right, and pronounced me out of danger, though two of my ribs were broken on the left side, and I was weak as a child from over-excitement and loss of blood. His injunctions moreover were, that I was not to be removed; but there was no chance of that, while Laura and Fanny hovered like guardian angels near my cabin-door, and while the burst of gratitude that swelled the heart of Sir Horace, on finding himself rescued by Her Majesty's troops, and by my personal exertions, remained in his bosom—all aristocratic, externally frigid, and exclusive as it was.
'Removed!' he reiterated, 'no, no—he shall make my yacht his home—and every Highlander shall make it his home. They must remain on board till the schooner returns to Constantinople (she had left it three weeks ago, on her return to England), and I will be accountable for them all to their commanding officer. I am an M.P., as well as a Lieutenant-Colonel—yes, Lieutenant-Colonel of the gallant South Peddlington Yeomanry, or Prince Alfred's Own Carbineers, the terror of the mining districts.'
Jack Belton and Sergeant Mac Ildhui with twenty men had a hunt—a regular stalking-match—over the island for the fugitive pirates; but not one was to be found; they had all vanished like the three hundred and sixty idols of Mecca, when the prophet waved his enchanted lance. Then Jack conceiving that it would be much more pleasant to proceed to Stamboul in the yacht of Sir Horace, when there were two charming young ladies on board, with the best of good living, prime port, and 'no end' of pink champagne and hermetically-sealed provisions, than to march on foot from Rodosdchig to Heraclea, and from thence to the Golden Horn, warmly seconded the baronet's grateful invitation, and sent a despatch to Major Catanagh, detailing Sir Horace's wish, and warmly commending his zeal for Her Majesty's service. He also sent the pinnace of the Mahmoudieh for our men's knapsacks, squadbags, and baggage; and while the lubberly Believers, who formed the crew of that imperial steamer, were endeavouring, with all the force of their paddles, engines, and hawser, to drag the yacht into deep water when the tide flowed, Jack was quietly seated in the cabin—about a month after all these troubles—beside Fanny at the piano, turning over the leaves of her music, and gazing sentimentally on her glossy tresses and white hands, while she warbled away, and in a low voice told him how 'she dared not seek to offer him, a timid love like hers;' till our matter-of-fact Jack was quite overcome, and the merry Fanny, already recovering from the shock of late events, was filled with laughter at the triumph of her own beauty, and the success of her brilliant coquetry.
She had already forgotten poor Snobleigh, who, after doing his duty bravely in the trenches before the Sedan, was found one morning cold and stiff, with his sword and a half-finished cigar beside him. He had been slain in the night by the splinter of a 'whistling-dick,' i.e., a ten-inch shell, and was now taking his eternal rest with the gallant Blair, and eleven other officers of the Household Brigade, on Cathcart's Hill.
At last the yacht was got fairly afloat, and was anchored in the stream. Her sails were bent anew, her running rigging rove, and the testy old baronet longed for the time that should find him under weigh to lay his grievances personally before our ambassador.