The spot where this skirmish took place was not more than four miles distant from the creek where we had landed, although any view of the latter was shut out by an intervening ridge. We could see the distant blue ocean stretching away to the horizon line, and dotted here and there with the sails of passing vessels, but the Rattler and the Flying-fish were invisible.
We at once told off a party to convey the wounded back to the shores of the creek, that they might be taken on board the frigate as quickly as possible. Mr. Triggs was placed in charge of this detachment, which included the prisoners, and had orders to rejoin the main body as expeditiously as he could, so that there might be no delay.
A fatigue party was also told off to bury the dead—a mournful duty which brings forcibly to one’s mind the horrors of warring with one’s fellow-creatures.
Fitzgerald and I felt this most acutely, for we had lost a very dear messmate, and it was part of our sad task to assist to lay him in his narrow grave in this foreign land far from his home and kindred.
“It will break his mother’s heart,” said a mournful voice near us, as we began to fill up the poor fellow’s last resting-place with the sand which we had dug out.
I turned and saw that it was Dr. Grant who had spoken.
“You know her?” I said interrogatively.
The surgeon nodded assent. Then he quoted,—
“We laid him in the sleep that comes to all,
And left him to his rest and his renown.”