Happy crew, happy officers! Madge was very much at home, and at ease, but who would not be so at a Royal Navy mess dinner.
Only sometimes McTavish was too quiet, and apparently a trifle sad. He was wondering to himself what this depression might portend.
"What are you thinking about, Mac," cried Guilford; "why, you've got a face like a latter day saint."
Mac laughed, blushed a little--for it is only men nowadays who do blush--but with an extreme effort he shook himself, mentally that is, and for the remainder of the evening was the life and soul of the ward-room.
No one spoke much about adventures. When the Captain was asked about those in New Guinea, he only laughed. "We sailor men," he said, "think little of adventure, so used to it, and as for bravery in the battlefield, why my worthy surgeon McTavish will tell you that to be slain is a far less cruel death than dying in bed."
The band to-night was playing at first delightful selections from operas, then they got on to the sweet bonnie lilts of old Scotland. Then to waltzes, and this was more than blood of sailors could stand. The middies had turned out in a body, and the men forward, too, kept it up.
Then McTavish, with Madge, and every other wardroom officer with any partner they could pick up.
"May I lead you forward sister dear, just to show you how our fellows can hornpipe."
The band stopped now. Kep's marvellous pipe soon filled the deck with hornpipe dancers. As soon as one dropped out of the ring another hopped in and this continued for an hour.
Then came the broadsword-men of the Breezy on deck, and this was the grandest treat ever Madge had known in all her young lifetime. But the duel between Stormalong and McTavish fairly brought down the house.
Mac of course had the tartans on, and being begged of to dance the sword dance, he did so, and with real Highland glee too.
Poor Squire Drummond was visibly affected,
But pleasures are like poppies spread, You seize the flow'r, the bloom is shed; Or like the snow falls in the river, A moment white, then melts for ever; Or like the borealis race, That flit ere you can point their place.
Every good time has an end. And so had this evening.
Kep and Mac took Madge and her father on shore. Hardly anyone spoke. No one could under such a starlit canopy with the big moon silvering all the sea southwards.
I wonder what made Mac squeeze the little hand that somehow--accident, I suppose--found its way into his, and was the gentle pressure he thought was returned, all mere imagination on his part?
* * * * *
Next evening Kep went on shore with his friend McTavish. They went long, long before sundown, because first the surgeon must talk a bit with the Squire, then Madge and the young men were going to be off on a ramble over the moor with Bounder.
The Squire and the gallant Navy surgeon talked chiefly about Scotland and the Clans. The ancestors of both had been out in the 45.
Drummond found that Mac was descended directly from a chief of the McTavish clan, which delighted the old man.
What delighted him most, however, was Mac's sturdily stating the facts which English boys need so much to be taught, that the short but bloody war that took place between the Jacobites and the Hanoverian was decidedly not a war between Scotland and England. There were as many so-called "Royalists" in Scotland as there were so-called rebels. That had Prince Charlie reached Norfolk his army would have been trebled in number.
"God bless you, young fellow."
And hand met hand in a hearty shake.
Away over hill and dale now for a long stroll. But where was Kep and Bounder. The restless Kep had gone on before. He left word with the housekeeper that he had gone on and that they would find him--forest way. I'm really afraid that Kep was a sly little dog.
"Oh, we'll find him," said McTavish, and away the two went together up and across the moor.
I'm sure of one thing, that McTavish, did not talk about Scotland and the Clans to his sweet and beautiful companion. They gathered wild flowers instead, and Mac could name them all and tell the story of their lives.
Sweet occupation!
Then, by chance I suppose, they entered a shady, ferny dell, and down they sat upon a rock. Then the past somehow came back and their romance in fair Italy.
Suddenly the girl burst into tears.
He was an awkward fellow, this Mac, and really was at a loss what to do or what to say.
But he blurted out at last--"Oh, dearest on earth, life of my life, soul of my soul, we love each other. Will you not be mine?"
She did not lisp out like a Society belle--"It's so sudden."
But her tearful face was upturned to his.
"Yes, dear, if father can be got over."
"That is nothing," said bold Mac. "I'll manage father. Then----"
Well, then Bounder put in an appearance with his red tongue out over his white teeth and laughing all down both sides.
"Hilloa! you fellows"--it was Kep's voice--"I've been looking for you everywhere."
The journey back to the Cottage was a lightsome and happy one. The dinner was a splendid one. All McTavish's despondency had fled, and he kept his host laughing almost continuously all the while with the strange stories he told.
After dinner the Squire and he went out to smoke in the garden, while the full moon rose silently up and sparkled on the beautiful sea.
You must have known long before this that this great athlete surgeon was not the man to hang fire about anything. His motto was, if you've got to fight, why, the sooner you charge the better.
He stopped so quickly in his walk that the Squire had forged ahead a few paces before he too could stop ship and get about.
Thus the two men faced each other.
"Squire Drummond, I love your daughter, and have reason to believe she is fond of me. Squire Drummond, may I call you father?"
The Squire looked the bold young rascal up and down, then burst out laughing. And here is what he said as he held out his hand--
"Damn me, Duncan McTavish, if I think I can do better."
So there was an end of the whole matter. Dr. McTavish was a bold young fellow, and you know
He either fears his fate too much Or his deserts are small Who dares not put it to the test, To win or lose it all.
But I say you know, according to Mac, there never was a moon so bright as that under which our heroes returned to the Breezy, nor a perfume half so sweet as that which arose from the cliffs clad with yellow gorse.
* * * * *
Now time is up, and reader and author have to part till another Christmas, if God in His goodness should see fit to spare us.
The Breezy arrived safely at Plymouth and had a very happy home coming. Captain Breezy was made Rear Admiral almost at once, and the King gave him a C.B.
Each officer and man was paid his share of the treasure as soon as its value was ascertained in the Bank of England. And here it was stored for a time.
But before I drop the curtain for the last time, I may tell you that every one of the Breezy's crew attended the marriage of McTavish and his bonnie bride, and they departed on their honeymoon in a special train for London.
It was not until Kep's return from town that he told his father about the treasure.
Three months after that, Drummond was back home and his daughter with Mac had come to live with father and comfort him.
Kep received a capital appointment as interpreter and secretary at Whitehall, where he remained till the terrible war was over.
Adolph went back to Austria, but promised to visit Martello many times and oft.
I need hardly say a word about Stormalong. Fact is he married his Katie, who had been as true to her sailor boy as the needle to the pole.
The Blue Ensign was transformed completely, and made into a really fashionable hotel, and everybody was proud of the jolly sailor landlord, who often condescended even to appear at the bar counter itself, and his laugh at such time, shook the very rigging, as Stormalong himself would have described it.
But in this hotel there was a snuggery, called the Man-o'-War Sailors' own room. Only sailors and sailor's friends were ever admitted, but to drop in there of an evening and listen to the yarns that the seamen spun--each with his pipe and his pint--would have made life seem pleasanter to the veriest hypochondriac.
But--but--why I don't think there is another "but" about it.
Lower away with the curtain. Good-bye, my brave British boys. And just one little cheer for the British Royal Navy.
THE END.
Butler & Tanner, The Selwood Printing Works, Frome and London.