Here I may as well relate the events of the action. One of the other divisions of gun-boats had retreated when attacked by the boats. The other had beaten off the boats, and killed many of the men, but had suffered so much themselves, as to retreat without making any capture. The Acasta lost four men killed, and seven wounded; the Isis, three men wounded; the Reindeer had nobody hurt; the Rattlesnake had six men killed, and two wounded, including the captain; but of that I shall speak hereafter. I found that I was by no means seriously hurt by the blow I had received: my shoulder was stiff for a week, and very much discoloured, but nothing more. When I fell overboard I had struck against a sweep, which had cut my ear half off. The captain of the brig gave me dry clothes, and in a few hours I was very comfortably asleep, hoping to join my ship the next day; but in this I was disappointed. The breeze was favourable and fresh; but we were clear of the Sound, but a long way astern of the convoy, and none of the headmost men-of-war to be seen. I dressed and went on deck, and immediately perceived that I had little chance of joining my ship until we arrived at Carlscrona, which proved to be the case. About ten o’clock, the wind died away, and we had from that time such baffling light winds, that it was six days before we dropped our anchor, every vessel of the convoy having arrived before us.
Chapter Fifty Nine.
The dead man attends at the auction of his own effects, and bids the sale to stop—One more than was wanted—Peter steps into his own shoes again—Captain Hawkins takes a friendly interest in Peter’s papers—Riga balsam sternly refused to be admitted for the relief of the ship’s company.
As soon as the sails were furled, I thanked the master of the vessel for his kindness, and requested the boat. He ordered it to be manned, saying, “How glad your captain will be to see you!” I doubted that. We shook hands, and I pulled to the Rattlesnake, which lay about two cables’ length astern of us. I had put on a jacket, when I left the brig on service, and coming in a merchantman’s boat, no attention was paid to me; indeed, owing to circumstances, no one was on the look-out, and I ascended the side unperceived.
The men and officers were on the quarter-deck, attending the sale of dead men’s effects before the mast, and every eye was fixed upon six pairs of nankeen trowsers exposed by the purser’s steward, which I recognised as my own. “Nine shillings for six pairs of nankeen trowsers,” cried the purser’s steward.
“Come, my men, they’re worth more than that,” observed the captain, who appeared to be very facetious. “It’s better to be in his trowsers than in his shoes.” This brutal remark created a silence for a moment. “Well, then, steward, let them go. One would think that pulling on his trowsers would make you as afraid as he was,” continued the captain laughing.
“Shame!” was cried out by one or two of the officers, and I recognised Swinburne’s voice as one.
“More likely if they put on yours,” cried I, in a loud indignant tone.