Part 34 (2/2)
”I was on board the yacht _Arcadia_. My name is Stanislas McKay. I am an officer of the Royal Picts--aide-de-camp to General Wilders. Where am I?” he repeated.
”You'll learn that fast enough; with friends, anyhow. Doctor said you weren't to talk. But just drink this, while I tell the captain you've come to. He hasn't had sight of you yet; we hauled you aboard while it was his watch below.”
Five minutes more and the captain, a jolly English tar, red in face and round in figure, came down, with a loud voice and cheering manner, to welcome his treasure-trove.
”Well, my hearty, so this is how I find you, eh? Soused in brine. Why, I hear they had to hang you up by the heels to let the water run out of your mouth. Come, Stanny, my boy, this won't do.”
”Uncle Barto!”
”The same: master of the steams.h.i.+p _Burlington Castle_, deep in deals--timbers for huts--and other sundries, now lying in Balaclava, waiting to be discharged. But, my dearest lad, you've had a narrow squeak. Tell me, how did it happen, and when?”
”I fell overboard, and I've been all night in the water: that's all.”
He did not choose as yet to make public his suspicions as to the real origin of his nearly fatal accident.
”I always said you had nine lives, Stanny, only don't go using them up like this. There's not a tom-cat could stand it.”
”Were you out in the gale, uncle?”
”Ay; and weathered it. At dawn, after the first puff, I knew we'd have a twister, so I got up steam and regularly worked against it. Made a good offing that way, and when the storm abated came back here. We were close in when we picked you up on a log.”
”It was a providential escape,” said Stanislas, thankfully. ”I thought it was all over with me.”
”We'll set you up in no time, never fear. But tell more about yourself. Jove! you are a fine chap, Stanny. Why, you'll die a general yet, if the Russians 'll let you off a little longer, and you're not wanted for the House of Peers.”
”What do you mean, uncle?”
”Why, of course, you haven't heard. There's trouble among your fine relations. Lord Essendine has lost all his sons.”
”All?”
”Yes; all. Hugo was killed, as you know; Anastasius died at Scutari; and Lord Lydstone, two days later, was found dead in the streets of Stamboul.”
”Dead? How? What did he die of, uncle?”
”A stab in the heart. He was murdered.”
”And I--”
He understood now the cause of the foul blow struck at him, and the base attempt to get him also out of the way.
”You are now next heir to the peerage, in spite of all they may say.
But you'll find my lord civil enough soon. He'll be wanting you to go straight home.”
”And leave the army? Not while there's fighting to be done, Uncle Barto. I may not be much good as I am, but I'll do all I can, trust me. I ought to be getting on sh.o.r.e and back to the front.”
”My doctor will have a word to say to that. He won't let you be moved till you're well and strong.”
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