He paused an instant, his eyes slowly taking in every detail of the familiar scene. For fourteen years had he been master of that bark, and even his unsympathetic nature was stirred to its very depths at the moment of leaving her forever. Now, in these last seconds of their long association, a hundred past events were kindled into life again, and flashed through his brain like the successive views of a panorama.
Hastily turning away, he tossed into the boat a package containing his sextant, a favorite chronometer, and the bark’s papers. He grasped the rope,—was soon in the water,—at the boat’s side,—and then safely on board. At a signal from the mate, Gene severed the line with his sheath-knife, and the _Dundee_ was abandoned to her fate.
“Now then,” cried Mr. Marsh, “give way with a will—look out! she’s going. Row, row for your lives!”
The wreck gave a sudden lurch and then recovered herself with a staggering motion just at the moment when those in the boat so dangerously near expected to see her founder. The oars were plied vigorously, and the gig was more than half way to the ship when Jumbo exclaimed, “Look at her now!”
The bark’s last moment had come. Her bows rose gradually out of the water, and she rolled slowly over, disappearing stern foremost, as easily as though she were being launched into that element which she had sailed so many years, and which was now ending her existence. The fore mast, with the distress signals fluttering in the breeze, was the last thing to vanish; and as it sunk beneath the whirling vortex a groan escaped Captain Murray. As chief owner of the _Dundee_, his financial loss would be considerable, but there was another stronger feeling. In the vessel which had just descended to unknown depths he had traversed all the waterways of the globe; she had been his only home for many years, and seemed almost a part of himself. Kindred he had none, and the old bark had absorbed whatever of latent affection there was in his cold nature. Now she was gone as completely as if she had never existed; a few spars, an empty cask, and the torn British ensign, alone remaining to show where she had last been seen.
There was a dead silence in that little boat (save for the sound of the oars) for many minutes after the final scene. All seemed awed, and when at length the ship’s side was reached, Captain Murray raised his head for the first time since he had looked on his lost vessel. His eyes were moist with the only tears that they had known since childhood. As he climbed over the bulwarks, Captain Meade came forward—the American warmly grasped the Englishman’s hand. With rare tact, he spoke no word, but led his guest down the companion-way and into the privacy of his own room, leaving Mr. Marsh to attend to the proper disposition of the remainder of the rescued.