“It was not altogether that—I frightened them more than I hurt them; for when they would have returned the blows from this stalwart arm,” said Jerry, holding out the member in question, which was about the thickness of a large carrot, “I immediately turned edgeways to them, and was invisible. They thought that they had to deal with either a ghost or a magician, and, depend upon it, it unnerved them—”
“‘Approach thou like,’—what is it?” resumed Price, “something—‘Hence, horrible shadow, unreal mockery, hence!’”
“Pretty names to be called in reward of my services,” cried Jerry. “I presume this is a specimen of the gratitude you were talking about. Well, after all, to take a leaf out of your book, Mr Price, I consider that the better part of valour is discretion. Now, that fellow, Stewart, he actually gave them his head to play with, and I am not sorry that he has had it broken—for I calculate that I shall be saved at least a dozen thrashings by some of his hot blood being let out—‘the King’s poor cousin!’”
“By the bye, I quite forgot—where’s Robinson, the coxswain of the cutter?” demanded Courtenay.
“Between the guns forward seriously hurt, poor fellow, I am afraid,” answered Seymour.
“I’m very sorry for that—I’ll go and see him—I wish to speak with him,” replied Courtenay, walking forward.
Robinson was lying near the long brass gun, which was pointed out of the foremost port, his head pillowed upon the body of the French captain, who had fallen by his hand, just before he had received his mortal wound. A musket-ball had entered his groin, and divided the iliac artery; he was bleeding to death—nothing could save him. The cold perspiration on his forehead, and the glassy appearance of his eye, too plainly indicated that he had but a few minutes to live. Courtenay, shocked at the condition of the poor fellow, who was not only the most humorous, but one of the ablest seamen in the ship, knelt down on one knee beside him, and took his hand.
“How do you feel, Robinson? are you in much pain?”
“None at all, sir, thank ye,” replied the man, faintly; “but the purser may chalk me down D.D. as soon as he pleases. I suppose he’ll cheat government out of our day’s grub though,” continued the man, with a smile.
Courtenay, aware of the truth of the first observation, thought it no kindness to attempt to deceive a dying man with hopes of recovery in his last moments; he therefore continued—“Can I be of any service to you, Robinson? Is there any thing I can do when you are gone?”