Neither of the lads dreamed for an instant that their unexpected entree into the Captain's family, when they were safely out of port, would be greeted with less than cheers and congratulations, or that other than ease and glory would be their portion for the remainder of the voyage.
Fortunately, for the success of their expectations, the Commander of the "Water Sprite" had a gentle heart under his rough exterior, and moreover, had boys of his own at home, so he only insisted on their earning their glory by keeping the brass work shining and allowed them to eat their fill at the second table.
The boys were singularly alike in feature but widely different in expression and disposition, Maurice being mischievous and happy, while Jack Fenton, the other lad, was ill-natured and vicious in his dealings with his companion in the adventure.
On the day preceding the terrible storm, Maurice was taken violently ill, and notwithstanding all was done that could be under such limited circumstances, he passed away almost at the very moment, when, rudderless and with her rigging swept away, the "Water Sprite" drifted helplessly at the mercy of wind and wave.
They were all saved through the timely assistance of an outgoing steamer, but Maurice's dead body was left to find a watery grave, through sheer inability to remove it.
The other lad was safely landed in Calcutta, and the Captain soon lost track of him in the press of his many duties.
To the old Captain, Maurice had told much of his home surroundings and the letter to his mother, on the day of his death, was written at his instigation, when his experienced eye saw that the black shadow was fast settling down upon the frail lad's features. Before he died he gave his ring, his clothing and the few other trifles that he had managed to conceal about him when leaving home, to his comrade, Jack Fenton.
Afterward the Captain regretted that he had not retained these treasures with the photograph and letter, but years passed by and in the varied excitements and dangers of his adventurous life the incident was only remembered in connection with the terrible disaster to his favorite vessel, but the letter and picture had traveled about with him for twelve long years, so safely hidden in the case of his miniature pocket compass that their very existence was forgotten until the moment of Sir Frederic's astounding revelation. The night was far spent before he had finished his narrative and answered the almost innumerable questions of his excited hearers.
They little heeded the violence of the storm, so great was the tempest of sorrow and rejoicing that raged within their hearts. When morning broke, the ladies were more composed, and a peaceful smile rested upon Mrs. Sinclair's face.