“You have had a terrible fight, Master Thornton,” observed Madame Volney; “and you are hurt.”
“We certainly had a sharp brush whilst it lasted,” said our hero; “but, as to my hurt, it is nothing. O’Loughlin has persuaded me that I am an Irishman, and, consequently, my head is composed of harder material than heads are usually. Now, having proved I am alive, I must leave you, and help my Commander to clear the vessels,” and, kissing Mabel, he hurried up on deck.
The schooner was named the Bon-Citoyen, and had been commanded by the late Victor Chabot, whose brother-in-law was Captain of the Vengeance. It was a valuable prize; having a large sum of money on board, besides some valuable cargo, previously taken from English ships.
It was finally settled between Captain O’Loughlin and our hero that the latter should run the schooner, with ten men, to Plymouth, keeping company with the Babet as long as circumstances or weather would permit. Accordingly, after the prisoners had been disposed of, and the dead committed to the deep, Thornton proceeded to bid the females farewell for a time.
This separation annoyed them all. Mabel was in tears, and almost felt inclined to ask to go in the schooner with her friend.
“We shall be alongside all the time, Mabel,” observed her young protector, “so keep up your spirits. We shall meet again in England in a couple of days.”
The midshipman proceeded on board the prize, taking with him, as his mate, Bill Saunders. There were four killed on board the schooner besides the Captain, and nine wounded, including the mate, a man apparently of a brutal and fierce disposition; for though carefully attended and taken to the Babet—he could walk notwithstanding his wound—he cursed and vowed vengeance the whole time. The vessel was very little damaged in her spars or sails, her rigging had principally suffered; but a few hours would set all that to rights. Captain O’Loughlin, as the weather was thick, arranged a mode of signals should the fog continue, and he also agreed to fire a gun if he tacked. So, shaking hands, the friends parted, and in a few minutes, so dense was the fog, they lost sight of each other.
Young Thornton naturally felt very proud of his command; and though he limped a little from the thrust of a boarding-pike in the leg, and smarting at times from the blow on the head, he walked the deck of the prize with amazing satisfaction, wishing for Charles Pole as a companion, now that he had lost the kind-hearted, cheerful O’Loughlin.
The schooner, after parting from the Babet, kept close hauled, sailing about six knots; the water was tolerably smooth, but the rain fell in thick drizzling showers. Bill Saunders was taking a turn at the helm, when our hero paused in his walk beside him.
“I wish it would clear, Bill,” he observed, in a thoughtful tone; “for though I am steering the course agreed upon, I am not at all satisfied that we shall clear the French coast on this tack. Can you lie no higher?”