His last utterances were all about Sybil, Denzil, and their mother; he imagined himself to see them, to be speaking to them, to hear their voices, and to feel their kisses on his sodden face, over which the sea washed ever and anon; and thus, happy it might be in his delirium, he passed away, and when more of the wreck broke up, the body dropped quietly into the sea, and was swept away in the trough to leeward, just as the grey dawn began to steal in, and the wind and waves to go down together, as if their object had been accomplished in the destruction of the ill-fated ship.
A boat that was not stove in, but was still dragged alongside by the fall-tackle, was now properly lowered. Ten men who survived got on board of her and shoved off from the wreck. But Derrick, who, in grief and weakness, had dropped asleep in the forecastle bunks, was unseen or forgotten by them in the hurry and selfishness of the moment; thus when he awoke, the sun was nearly setting, and he was alone upon the sea, for the boat had been picked up by one of Her Majesty's steam vessels, the captain of which duly reported the circumstance, with the loss of the Admiral, to Lloyds and the owners in London.
Derrick's reflections on finding himself alone in the sinking ship were far from soothing. He had death before him, in its most terrible form, by slow starvation; and all the horrors he had read or heard of in shipwrecked men occurred to him with vivid minutiæ most painful to endure. But he prayed quite as much that he might be spared to fulfil the wishes of his master as for the prolongation of his own humble life, and the honest fellow's supplications were not uttered in vain, for ere the twilight came, a vessel bound for Tasmania took him off the wreck; and now, after long, perilous, and penniless wanderings, he found himself once more safe in old England.
Sharkley, who had listened to all this narrative with deep interest—not that he cared a jot about the escapes, the sufferings, or the perseverance of the narrator, but because it formed a necessary sequence to the other portions of his story, which related to Montreal—now said,—
"After all you have undergone, you will, I hope, be careful to whom you show, and with whom you trust, papers, upon the production of which, in a proper and legal manner, so much depends."
"Make yourself perfectly easy on that head," replied Braddon, winking knowingly, as he refilled his pipe.
"Lord Lamorna would give a good round sum, I doubt not—a good round sum, my dear sir, to possess them."
"I am neither a dear sir, nor a cheap one," growled Derrick; "if you mean by Lord Lamorna Master Denzil, the papers are his already by right; if you mean Downie Trevelyan, they sha'n't be his, even if he piled up money as high as Bron Welli. Ah—he had ever an eye to the main chance."
"And haven't we all?"
"In some ways, perhaps, more or less; but harkee, comrade, no more hints like that you gave just now. I had a kind, good master, and was his faithful servant. I am an old soldier, and know what honour is, though my coat be a tattered one."