“Those fellows have gone to Apia,” he said to mate Brant, “and I'll go there and get them if it takes me a month of Sundays.”
But when the Shawnee dropped anchor in the reef-bound harbour, Captain Lucy found that he had come on a vain quest—the mutineers' boat had not been seen.
For seven years nothing was ever heard of the missing boat, till one day a tall, muscular-looking man, in the uniform of a sergeant of the New South Wales Artillery, came on board the American whaleship Heloise, as she lay in Sydney harbour, refitting. He asked for Captain Newman, and was shown into the cabin.
The captain of the Heloise was sitting at the cabin table reading a book, and rose to meet his visitor.
“What can I do for you, sir? Good God! is it you, Gerald Rodman!”
The soldier put out his hand. “Is my sister alive, Newman?”
“She died three years ago in my arms, hoping and praying to the last that she might see you and Ned before she died. And Ned?”
“Dead, Newman; he and Wray and Porter died of thirst. Harrod and I alone survived that awful voyage, and reached New Zealand at last. Was Nell buried with the old folks, Martin?”
“Yes,” answered the captain of the Heloise, passing his hand quickly over his eyes, “it was her wish to lie with them. We had only been married two years.”
The sergeant rose, and took Newman's hand in his, “Goodbye, Martin. Some day I may stand with you beside her grave.”