“Nothing at all, sir. I’ve neither chick nor child, nor relation, that I know of. Yes, there is one thing, sir, but it’s on the bloody side; the key of the mess chest is in my trousers’ pocket—I wish you’d recollect to have it taken out and given to John Williams; you must wait till I’m dead, for I can’t turn myself just now.”
“It shall be attended to,” replied Courtenay.
“And, Mr Courtenay, remember me to the captain.”
“Is there any thing else?” continued Courtenay, who perceived that the man was sinking rapidly.
“Nothing—nothing, sir,” replied Robinson, very, faintly. “Good-bye, God bless you, sir; I’m going fast now.”
“But Robinson,” said Courtenay, in a low soothing voice, bending nearer to him, “tell me, my good fellow—I am not the least angry—tell me, why did you call me Little Bilious?”
The man turned his eyes up to him, and a smile played upon his features, as if he was pleased with the idea of disappointing the curiosity of his officer. He made no answer—his head fell back, and in a few seconds he had breathed his last.
“Poor fellow—he is gone!” said Courtenay, with a deep sigh, as he rose up from the body. “Never answered my question, too—Well,” continued he, as he walked slowly aft, “now that’s what I consider to be most excessively annoying.”
By this time, the privateer had been towed under the stern of the frigate, and a hawser was sent on board to secure her astern. Price and the other officers returned on board, where they were well received by Captain M—, who thanked them for their exertions. The wounded had been some time under the hands of Macallan, and fresh crews having been ordered into the boats, they returned to the privateer. The hatches were taken off and the prisoners removed to the frigate.
The name of the prize was the Estelle, of two hundred tons burthen, mounting fourteen guns, and having on board, at the commencement of the attack, her full complement of one hundred and twenty-five men.