The Island of Gold: A Sailor's Yarn

That same day, after taking all that was valuable out of the dear old Sea Flower– and that all included a fortune in gold – the hull was set on fire.

In the evening the steamer left the island, but not before Tandy and Halcott had taken the bearings of the hidden mine.

In that cave lies an immense fortune for some one some day.

Some hard work and digging will be required, however, before the fortune is finally brought to bank, and those who go to seek it must go fully prepared to fight as fiendish a tribe of man-eating savages as ever yet has been faced in the South Pacific Ocean.

Ideal voyages by sea are still to be made, although not in torpedo-boats or in Majesties, and this was one of them.

The Crusoes of the Island of Gold, once fairly afloat on the briny ocean, soon waxed healthy and strong again, and all hands on board the saucy Borneo were just as happy as happy could be.

I must admit, however, that “saucy Borneo” is simply a figure of speech. There wasn’t, really, a trace of sauciness about the dear, old rumble-tumble of a ship. The skipper was about as rough as they make them; so was his mate – and so were all hands, for that matter. But if they were rough, they were right, and just as Dibdin describes a seaman: —

“Though careless and headstrong if danger should press,
And ranked ’mongst the free list of rovers,
He’ll melt into tears at a tale of distress,
And prove the most constant of lovers.

“To rancour unknown, to no passion a slave,
Nor unmanly, nor mean, nor a railer,
He’s gentle as mercy, as fortitude brave —
And this is a true British sailor.”

As before, Bob and Nelda were the pets of the ship; and ’Rallie, who now did the drollest antics any bird ever attempted, kept all hands laughing from binnacle to bowsprit.

Happiness is catching. I gather this from the fact that, after watching Halcott and Doris walking arm-in-arm up and down the quarterdeck one lovely day, with pleasure and love beaming in the eyes of each, bold Captain Weathereye said to himself, —

“How jolly they look! He makes her happy, and she makes him. Blame me if I don’t make somebody happy myself as soon’s I get to port. I’m not so old yet, and neither is Miss Scragley. Ahem!”

Well, the reader can guess how it turned out. Many years have passed since the voyage home of the old Borneo. Doris is Mrs Halcott now. A pleasant home they have, and Tandy often visits there.

Tandy built himself a beautiful house on the very spot where the humble cottage stood; but it isn’t called Hangman’s Hall. Bob is there, and Murrams is there – good Mrs Farrow kept him while our heroes were at sea; and little Nelda – not so little now – is there, too; while, high and dry, in the gibbet-tree still roosts the droll old Admiral.

Ransey Tansey is a man now, and walks his own quarterdeck; but I did hear, only yesterday, that he will soon marry Eedie. There is no Miss Scragley any longer, however. But there is a Mrs Weathereye. Ahem!

Yes; and Weathereye and Tandy are almost inseparables, and many a yarn they spin together over their pipes.

As the canal yonder, with the sunlight glinting on its breast, goes calmly meandering through the woods and meadows green, so gently pass their lives along.

Good-bye, lads! Please, may I come again?

The End