“Be comforted!  She lies,” said the Captain gently, “under the cocoa-nut trees on the beach.”

“And my child, Captain Carton, did you find my child, too?  Does my darling rest with my mother?”

“No.  Your pretty child sleeps,” said the Captain, “under a shade of flowers.”

His voice shook; but there was something in it that struck all the hearers.  At that moment there sprung from the arbour in his boat a little creature, clapping her hands and stretching out her arms, and crying, “Dear papa!  Dear mamma!  I am not killed.  I am saved.  I am coming to kiss you.  Take me to them, take me to them, good, kind sailors!”

Nobody who saw that scene has ever forgotten it, I am sure, or ever will forget it.  The child had kept quite still, where her brave grandmamma had put her (first whispering in her ear, “Whatever happens to me, do not stir, my dear!"), and had remained quiet until the fort was deserted; she had then crept out of the trench, and gone into her mother’s house; and there, alone on the solitary Island, in her mother’s room, and asleep on her mother’s bed, the Captain had found her.  Nothing could induce her to be parted from him after he took her up in his arms, and he had brought her away with him, and the men had made the bower for her.  To see those men now, was a sight.  The joy of the women was beautiful; the joy of those women who had lost their own children, was quite sacred and divine; but, the ecstasies of Captain Carton’s boat’s crew, when their pet was restored to her parents, were wonderful for the tenderness they showed in the midst of roughness.  As the Captain stood with the child in his arms, and the child’s own little arms now clinging round his neck, now round her father’s, now round her mother’s, now round some one who pressed up to kiss her, the boat’s crew shook hands with one another, waved their hats over their heads, laughed, sang, cried, danced—­and all among themselves, without wanting to interfere with anybody—­in a manner never to be represented.  At last, I saw the coxswain and another, two very hard-faced men, with grizzled heads, who had been the heartiest of the hearty all along, close with one another, get each of them the other’s head under his arm, and pommel away at it with his fist as hard as he could, in his excess of joy.

When we had well rested and refreshed ourselves—­and very glad we were to have some of the heartening things to eat and drink that had come up in the boats—­we recommenced our voyage down the river:  rafts, and boats, and all.  I said to myself, it was a very different kind of voyage now, from what it had been; and I fell into my proper place and station among my fellow-soldiers.