The Missing Ship: The Log of the "Ouzel" Galley

by William Henry Giles Kingston

“And where’s the bit of paper?” asked Captain Tracy eagerly.

“Here it is, yer honour,” answered the seaman, pulling a battered old tobacco-box out of his pocket, from which he produced a yellow scrap of paper, on which was written, apparently with the end of a burnt stick, the letters O.M. Norah had been too much excited even to speak. She gazed at the paper.

“Yes—these letters were, I am sure, written by Owen. I knew that he was alive; I was certain of it!” she exclaimed, her bosom palpitating as she spoke with the varied emotions which agitated her. “Oh, father, look at them! They must have been written by Owen; he had no time or means for writing more, and he was sure we should recognise them if they were ever brought to us.”

The captain took the paper and examined it. “Yes, I truly believe that these letters were inscribed by Owen Massey. Had he attempted to write more, he knew that the whole would probably be obliterated before it could reach us, so he did the wise and thoughtful thing,” he said. “I praise Heaven that he is alive. I was sure from the first that the Ouzel Galley did not go down in the hurricane, and this proves it; though what has become of her, or where Owen is imprisoned, is more than I can make out—for imprisoned I take it that he is, and strictly guarded too, or he’d have long since found his way home.”

“The more reason, then, that we should go in search for him,” exclaimed Norah. “Oh, father, let us sail as soon as possible.”

“Captain O’Brien will soon be back from Bristol, and nothing need longer delay us, except the want of funds,” said the captain, “and they must first be raised. But with the assurance that Owen is still alive—and I think the account we have heard affords that—I believe that my friends Ferris, Twigg, and Cash will no longer hesitate to advance the required amount. For, though we have no evidence that the Ouzel Galley has escaped destruction, my belief is that she is safe, as well as her master, although we are at present almost as much in the dark as ever as to where she is. Had Tim Reardon survived, we should, I have no doubt, been able to obtain much valuable information to guide us; but as he is dead, we must trust to what we can hereafter gain. We’ll hear, however, what further our friend the seaman can tell us. Perhaps, after he has had some food, he may remember more of what Tim said to him.”

“I’m mighty hungry, yer honour—it’s the truth,” said Larry, looking up; on which Norah hastened to get some cold meat and bread, not forgetting a noggin of whisky, at which Larry’s eyes glistened. The captain allowed him to eat in silence, and he proved how hungry he must have been by the quickness with which he devoured the viands placed before him. Another examination elicited little further information, however, from the seaman; his messmate had never mentioned the circumstances under which he had met the person who had given him the paper with the initials O.M. on it. He remembered only that he had once spoken of a fine ship of which O.M. had been master, and which he had not long ago seen, although he either did not know her name or was bound not to divulge it. It was evident, indeed, that the unfortunate Tim Reardon was under some fearful oath which he was afraid to break, and that he had always spoken with the greatest caution, lest he might in any way commit himself.

“Many would call yours a cock-and-bull story,” observed Captain Tracy, “but I believe you, Larry, and you may have the satisfaction of knowing that you have fulfilled your promise to your dying messmate. Though you ask for no reward, I’ll do what I can to repay you for the information you have given me; and now you’ve had some rest and food, if you’ll come in with me to Waterford, I’ll give you a fresh rig out, and you can cast away the rags you’ve got on your back.”

“Faith, yer honour, I’m in luck thin. I’m ready to walk a dozen miles or more,” exclaimed Larry, jumping up; and, giving a bow with his battered hat and a scrape of the foot, he added, “The top of the morning to you, young lady, and a thousand thanks. It’s put fresh life into my heart. Shure, I hope the gentleman you’ve been inquiring after will come back alive some bright day.”

Followed by Larry, the captain hurried into Waterford, where, having got the seaman rigged out from top to toe in a new suit of clothing, he repaired to Ferris, Twigg, and Cash’s office. He there wrote a letter to the firm in Dublin, giving an account of the information he had just received, and urging them to advance the sum required to enable the Research to proceed on her voyage. Soon after he had despatched the letter, Captain O’Brien arrived, bringing with him two mates and eight good men.