"You see, she turns me out," he said humorously to Bob, in a sort of stage aside. "That's what you might call Irish hospitality."

He hurried out after his insulting remark, but popped in his head again at the door to make a parting request.

"May I come back to dinner, please?" he asked, with his hands clasped in mute entreaty also. "I have breakfasted and lunched with you, so I may just as well make a day of it, and come to dinner."

"Yes, if you're good," she replied. "But why so particularly this evening? I'm afraid it's a Banian day, and Molly will not have anything nice for you."

"Never mind that, ma'am. I want to take you all down to see the wreck at high-water," said he. "It will probably be the last of the old ship."

"Hurrah!" exclaimed Bob, pitching his hat in the air, and catching it dexterously again. "Won't that be jolly?"

On Nell now coming downstairs, they proceeded on their respective ways; the Captain into Portsmouth, and Mrs Gilmour, with Bob and Nellie, accompanied by d.i.c.k carrying a basket, to Mrs Craddock's old-fashioned cottage, at Fratton--almost in the opposite direction.

Here Mrs Gilmour, after one or two inquiries, discovered, much to her satisfaction, that the widow and her daughter were the wife and child of her husband's boatswain, whence ensued much talk between herself and the old lady, who declared the invalid to be "the very image of poor dear Craddock!"

While their elders were conversing, Nellie was also having a chat with the bedridden girl, who, she was glad to see, looked decidedly better than at the time of her last visit; an improvement doubtless due to the Captain's old port; and other nourishing things Mrs Gilmour had taken her.

Bob meanwhile had been overhauling the various curios in the little parlour, where the invalid was lying, this being the first time he had been there.

"Oh, auntie," he called out presently, "do look at this Chinese idol here! It's just like one I saw at the South Kensington Museum, only it has such funny wooden shoes on."

Mrs Gilmour came across the room to look at the monster figure squatting down in the corner; but, on Bob's showing her the shoes, she laughed.

"Those are not Chinese, my boy," she exclaimed, "they are a pair of wooden sabots from France, such as are worn by the peasants of Brittany and Normandy."

"You're quite right, my lady," said the widow Craddock, approaching them. "My son, who was a sailor like his father, found them on board a French vessel he helped that was in distress in the Channel; so, he brought them home and stuck them on that there h'image in fun. Lawk, mum, if them wooden shoes could talk, it's a queer tale they'd tell ye, fur they was the means, or leastways it wer' through his boarding the vessel where he found 'em, that my son Jim, which was his name, my lady, come to give up the sea; although, mind you, he's summat to do with it still, being a fisherman fur that matter. However, the end of it was that he marries the French gal as took his fancy when he comed across them shoes, and went to live at Saint Mailer, as they calls it."

"Saint Malo, I suppose," corrected Mrs Gilmour. "Eh?"

"Yes, my lady, I sed Saint Mailer, didn't I?" replied the old dame, not perceiving where the delicate distinction lay; and then she went on to relate in a very roundabout fashion all the incidents connected with her son's marriage--as well as talking of everything else under the sun, so it seemed to Bob, who thought it an interminably long story, and was heartily glad when old Mrs Craddock got to the end of it.

But, little did he think in how short a s.p.a.ce of time he would be brought in contact with that son of hers, Jim Craddock, in the very strangest manner, and under circ.u.mstances that would never have entered his wildest dreams!

However, he did not know this; and, while the old dame was spinning her yarn, Bob employed the time by looking at the model of a ship over the mantelpiece, which brought back to his mind all about the _Bembridge Belle_, making him feel on tenter-hooks lest they should be late for dinner, and so be unable to go down afterwards and see the wreck, as the Captain had arranged.

He need not have been so fidgety, though.

Everything comes to an end in time, as did the old lady's talk; and then, they were able to start home again, Rover coming in for much praise from his waiting so patiently for such a lengthy period outside Mrs Craddock's cottage, without bark or whine betraying his presence there.

The dinner was not late, much to Bob's joy; and, the Captain being also punctuality itself, they set out for the beach, just when the dim shadows of the fading twilight were mingling with those of night.

There was a stiff breeze blowing from the southward and eastward, almost half a gale, as a sailor would express it, the wind causing the incoming tide to break on the sh.o.r.e with a low, dull roar, as if the spirit of the deep felt half inclined to be angry, and yet had not quite made up his mind!

It was almost dark by the time the little party from "the Moorings"

reached the wreck, and things were beginning to get indistinct a little distance off; but, soon after their arrival on the spot, the silvery moon rising at the full, pa.s.sing through occasional strata of dark cloud that veiled her light at intervals, illumined the sky with her weird beams, making it bright as day, but with a ghostly radiance that lent a mystic spectral effect to all the surroundings.

What a difference the vessel presented to her appearance of the morning!

Then she was high and dry on the shingle, with the retreating tide going out to sea to flood coasts elsewhere, only indicating that it had not quite gone yet by a faint splash and ripple on the sh.o.r.e; and, deserted by the element that should have supported her and did when she moved and had her being, gliding through the waters "like a thing of life," the wretched steamer stood up so gaunt and grim that she seemed more than twice her natural size.

That was in the morning, barely twelve hours ago! But, now, where was she? The tell-tale light of the moon explained all, without a word being wanted.

At first no doubt, the breakers!--how aptly named!--had begun their attack against the poor crippled thing's hull by degrees, little billows leading the a.s.sault that could only leap half-way up the side of the stranded steamer, falling back with impotent mutterings in a pa.s.sion of spray; then, as the tide rose, these were succeeded by bigger waves rolling in from the eastwards, which, swollen with pride and br.i.m.m.i.n.g with destruction, beat and bl.u.s.tered all about the vessel from cut.w.a.ter to sternpost, seeking ingress through the timbers that they might fall upon her and devour her.

Through it all the poor _Bembridge Belle_ battled bravely, holding her own as long as she could keep her head above the boisterous billows; but, when the tide rose yet higher, and the waters flowed through her fore and aft, her upper deck became submerged, the sea made a clean breach over her, the waves took her in their rough hands and shook her so that she trembled, her hull working to and fro in the shingle, the bl.u.s.tering billows dashed against her, and she began to break up. The loose upper or hurricane-deck parted. Then the contents of the main saloon below, of which this deck formed the roof, commenced washing adrift, the broken water round the deck pitching and tossing about cushions and chairs, flaps of tables, and all sorts of pieces of furniture, some of which were cast up ash.o.r.e near by, and others carried out by the tide to goodness knows where!

The Captain and Mrs Gilmour, with Bob and Nell, and d.i.c.k and Rover, too, watched this sad ending of the steamer's career with almost as heavy hearts as if they were her owners. Rover, indeed, took such a very deep interest in her that he a.s.sisted h.e.l.lyer and the other coastguardsmen on duty at the spot by helping them bravely in dragging out of the clutches of the waves everything that floated near enough insh.o.r.e for him to jump at and seize.

"We'd better go home now," said the Captain, when the vessel separated amidships, her funnel and masts falling over into the water. "There's nothing more to see now, poor old ship!"

He spoke quite sadly, as if he had lost a friend; and the others, too, seemed equally affected by the scene, even Bob turning his back on the beach without a murmur at their going indoors so early, as he would otherwise have done; this being the young gentleman's usual plaint.

But, if depressed for the moment, on reaching "the Moorings" the thermometer of their spirits jumped suddenly to fever-heat.

Sarah, "the good Sarah," opened the door, as she usually did; but she appeared to perform the task on the present occasion with even more than her usual alacrity, while her face wore a pleased expression that had not visited it since the composition of that celebrated poem in honour of her memory! She actually beamed with delight and looked "bursting, aye, bursting with good news!" as the Captain said afterwards.

"Why, whatever is the matter, Sarah?" asked Mrs Gilmour. "Speak, my good girl!"

She paid no attention, however, to her mistress.

"Oh, Master Bob--oh, Miss Nell!" she exclaimed. "Who do you think have come, and is now in the house?"

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.

ON BOARD THE OLD "VICTORY."

Bob and Nellie both stared at Sarah in surprise.

They thought, for the moment, the poor girl had lost her wits!

An inkling of the truth, however, flashed across their minds the next instant; and, pushing past the almost incoherent Sarah, who said something which neither of them caught the sense of, the two rushed into the lighted hall in a flurry of excitement.

Here the sight of several corded trunks and other luggage, which had not been there when they went out of the house earlier in the evening, at once confirmed their joyous antic.i.p.ations.

"Hurrah!" cried Bob, giving vent to his feelings first. "Dad and mother are here at last!"

Nell, though, got ahead of him in greeting the new-comers.

"Oh, mamma!" she said, dashing towards the door of the dining-room which opened into the hall and meeting half-way a stately lady who was advancing with open arms. "My own dear mamma!"

The Captain and Mrs Gilmour had now come into the hall, following more sedately the harum-scarum youngsters; and while the former hung back, waiting to be introduced as soon as the first greetings were over, the good lady of the house advanced eagerly to welcome a tall and bearded gentleman, with a right good pair of broad shoulders of his own, who came forward to meet her, with Bob clinging to one of his arms while the other was round his neck.

"Why, me dear Dugald, it's never you!" exclaimed Mrs Gilmour as her brother let go Bob and caught both her outstretched hands in his, giving them a fraternal grip. "Sure, is it yoursilf, or somebody ilse?"

"Mesilf, Polly, sure enough," replied he in a deep baritone voice, that resembled Bob's, but had a very slight suspicion of the Irish brogue in it like her own. "Right glad am I to say ye again, too, mavourneen!

Ye're a sight good for sore eyes, sure!"

He laughed as he said this, a racy, genial laugh in keeping with his looks; and the Captain instantly took a liking to him for his own sake, apart from his likeness to his sister, Mrs Gilmour, who now introduced him, having already prepossessed the old sailor in his favour.