As We Sweep Through The Deep Part 5

Many of the wounded, both among our own people and the French prisoners on board the _Ocean Pride_, died and were buried as the ship sailed on; but the strength of Jack's Highland const.i.tution a.s.serted itself, and he was at last p.r.o.nounced by M'Hearty to be out of danger, very much to Tom Fairlie's delight.

His wounds had been very grievous--a sabre-cut on the skull and a spent bullet that had injured his left arm.

When the ship reached Portsmouth and the country rang with the news of Sir Sidney's bright little action, when the papers gave a list of the dead and wounded and extolled Jack's bravery, and when private information from headquarters informed the general that his son would be gazetted post-captain, then the old Highlander's cup of bliss seemed full.

"Look at that," he cried, with the joy-tears in his eyes; "read that letter, Flora dear. My boy, my brave boy! I shall go right away to Portsmouth and meet him, and you shall come and nurse him. My brave, good lad! What care we for money, Flo? The Mackenzies have their swords!"

On the arrival of the _Ocean Pride_ in port, Jack had been sent to sh.o.r.e quarters for a time, and Tom determined to share his rooms.

Jack was very cheerful, for he had almost forgotten his dream.

Now Mr. Keane had determined to play his cards as well as he knew how to. The baronet had become indisposed, but the astute lawyer had invited him down to his little place in the country, and he had taken Gerty home too.

At the time of the _Pride's_ arrival in Portsmouth there was no engagement between Gerty and Sir Digby. All that she had really promised her father since Richards had told her that fairy story was that she would try to learn to love Sir Digby all she could, and when a little older would marry him; so Keane was content.

This, however, did not prevent him sending a confidential clerk down to interview Jack. And the following is the bomb-sh.e.l.l Saunders the clerk, obeying orders, fired:--

"Mr. Keane just sent me down to ask about you and convey all sorts of kind messages. Especially did he bid me a.s.sure you that he had not spoken to your father about the little account, and that he is in no hurry for the money. Indeed, the approaching marriage of his daughter is at present absorbing all his attention.

"Why, what is the matter, Captain Mackenzie?" continued the clerk, noticing the staggering effect his words had on poor Jack.

"Nothing, nothing much. A little faint, that is all. Leave me now, Mr.

Saunders. Tell Mr. Fairlie I would speak with him."

Tom ran in. He found Jack lying helpless on the sofa, white and trembling. But he soon recovered sufficiently to speak.

"My dream, my dream, Tom; it has all come true."

Tom Fairlie sat long beside his friend, giving him all the comfort he could think of, and that really was not a great deal. Things might not be quite as the clerk had represented them. Gerty _could_ not be so cruel. From all he--Jack--had told him, he seemed to know her thoroughly. Jack must see her and learn his fate from her own lips.

This and much more said Tom Fairlie.

[Ill.u.s.tration: "_This good blade shall be my bride._"

Page 58.]

But for a time never a word said Jack.

He rose from the couch at last, and going quietly to the corner, took up his sword and drew it.

"Tom," he said boldly, "pardon me if I seem to act stagy, I am _not_ acting. We Mackenzies are a wild and headstrong lot, and too proud, I own, by far. We cannot help our nature. But here in your presence I vow that now this good blade shall be my bride; that I'll be true to her, and she as true as steel to me."

"Bravo, Jack!" cried M'Hearty, bursting into the room; "I've heard it all. And now, my lad, I bring you good tidings. I've run all the way from the port-admiral's office to be the very first to shake hands with Post-Captain Jack Mackenzie."

CHAPTER VI.

A BOLT FROM THE BLUE.

"O Life! how pleasant in thy morning, Young Fancy's rays the hills adorning."

BURNS.

General Grant Mackenzie was a somewhat impulsive man. It is the nature of the Celt to be impulsive. His nervous system is far more finely strung than that of the plethoric or adipose Saxon, and it vibrates to the slightest breath of emotion. Mind, I talk of the ideal Celt--be he Irish or Scotch--and General Grant Mackenzie was an ideal Celt. And sitting here with my good guitar on my knee, I cannot help comparing a nature like his to just such a beautiful stringed instrument as this.

What a world of fine feeling lies herein; what a wealth of poetry, what sadness, what tenderness--ay, and what pa.s.sion as well! Behold, on this music-stand lies a big old book--a book with a story to it, for it belonged to my unfortunate ancestor Symon Fraser of Lovat, who was beheaded on Tower Hill. It is Highland music all, and sweet to me are its mournful laments as breathed by my sad guitar; but--I turn a leaf--and here is a battle-piece. Ha! the instrument hath lost its sadness, or only here and there come wailing notes like moans of the wounded amidst the hurry, the scurry, the dashing, and the clashing of this terrible tulzie. Can't you see the claymores glitter? Can't you see the tartans wave, and nodding plumes among the rolling smoke? Oh, I can.

Seems as if the guitar would burst its very strings; but, the battle is over--cry of vanquished, shout of victor, all are hushed. And now comes the ghostly music of the coronach: they are burying the dead. And the instrument appears to sob, to weep, till the sweet low song of grief in cadence dies.

A nature like that of Grant Mackenzie, then, or of his son--for both seemed cast in the same mould--needs a well-trained, well-balanced mind to guide and restrain it; for there are few occasions indeed in this world when one dares lay bare his soul and feelings even to his best friends.

The day after M'Hearty's visit to Jack, the young post-captain, with his friend Tom Fairlie, was just finishing breakfast, when in dashed the general. Next minute his son was pressed against his breast just as if he had been a child.

Jack had spilt his tea and knocked over a chair in his hurry to get to his father; but what did that matter? So there they stood looking at each other for a moment, the tears in both their eyes.

Maybe the old general was a trifle ashamed of such weakness, for next moment he burst into a merry laugh.

"Why, Jack, my brave boy," he cried, "there are only two arms between the pair of us. But yours will get well; mine, alas, is in the grave!"

Flora came up now, and Jack seemed delighted to see her.

"And here," he said, "here, Flora, is the best friend I have in the world--Tom Fairlie.--Nay, never blush, Tom, my brother.--He it was, Flora, who helped to take me below after I got hit; and when even the surgeon--grand old fellow M'Hearty! father, you shall know him--gave me up, Tom stuck to me, and he has been nursing me ever since as if I were a child. Ah, Flora, there is no friendship on earth so true, and no love either, as that man bears for man."

Jack looked at his sister as he spoke, and that glance told her he knew all.

"Father, I had almost forgotten to tell you of my espousal."

"Espousal, Jack! You astonish me; it can't be true!"

"Oh, but it is."

He picked his sword off the couch as he spoke and held it out to his father.

"Let me present my bride," he said, laughing.

The general himself could laugh now.

"So pleased, so pleased! But, 'pon honour, you young rascal, you pretty nearly took your old father's breath away. Married! bless my soul, talk about that thirty years hence; and blame me, Jack, but that itself might be too soon.

"So you knocked the French about a bit? Well done, Jack; and well done, Lieutenant Fairlie."

"Oh," said the young sailor, laughing, "they always call me Tom."

"Well, Tom," said the general, holding out his hand, "you and my brave lad fought n.o.bly; but bless my heart, he wouldn't be a true Mackenzie if he couldn't fight. So you gave it to the Froggies hot, eh? I knew you would. Second only to the British army is the British navy, lads."

"And second only to the British navy, father, is the British army."

"Bravo! _esprit de corps_. Well, I like it. But I've news for you, Jack.

Why, your old father, you young dog you, is going to take command again.

Ha, ha! sword arm all right, and head-piece in glorious form."