“And His Majesty a valuable officer,” replied the captain. “I am afraid his mother will feel it in more ways than one—he supported her, I think.”
“He did, sir: will you not give an acting order to one of the young gentlemen?” (It was the third-lieutenant over whom they were lamenting.)
“Yes, make it out for Mr Robertson.”
“He’s in the list, sir.”
“What! killed? So he is, poor fellow! Well, then—Mr Wheatley—let it be made out for him.”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
It was not until the ensuing day that the loss of the enemy could be ascertained. Crowded as were her decks with troops, it was enormous. Not only the first and second captains, second-lieutenant, and seven junior officers of the frigate had fallen, but eleven officers of the detachment of soldiers sent on board of her. The total loss appeared to be one hundred and forty-seven killed, and one hundred and eighty-four wounded, out of an aggregate of nearly nine hundred men.
In a few days the Aspasia and her prize arrived at Plymouth, the English colours proudly waving over the tricoloured flag of her late opponent, and both vessels ran into Hamoaze amidst the cheers of thousands of spectators assembled upon Mount Wise and Mount Edgecomb to greet their gallant and successful defenders. Captain M— immediately proceeded to London, where the representation which he made of McElvina’s conduct was followed by an order for his immediate release, and McElvina, taking an affectionate leave of Willy, with a parting injunction to “be honest,” set off to report to old Hornblow, and his daughter Susan all the circumstances attending the capture of his lugger, and the events which had subsequently ensued.