At this moment Mr Flinn entered.
“Sit down, Mr Flinn, sit down, man,” said the skipper. “Well, how are things looking on board the prizes by this time?”
“Capitally, sir, I am happy to say,” replied Flinn, with a beaming phiz. “The wounded have nearly all been attended to, and we may begin to transfer them at once. Little Fisher seems in a somewhat more promising condition now that his wounds have been dressed, and the others are also doing well. As to the prizes, the brigantine has such a heterogeneous assortment of goods in her hold that her cargo alone, which is very valuable, is sufficient to betray her character. Her skipper was killed—by you, Ralph, if I understand them rightly—early in the attack, but the mate, or lieutenant as he calls himself, swears she is a privateer. However, as he cannot produce anything like a commission, I am very glad I am not in his shoes. The craft is called the ‘Juanita,’ and the mate says they were bound from Cumana to Cartagena, but his papers look to me remarkably like forgeries. The ship is the ‘San Nicolas,’ bound from La Guayra to Cadiz, with a general cargo and—two large boxes of silver bricks, which we found stowed away down in the run. Her papers are all perfectly correct, and she is evidently a prize to the brigantine. The rascals on board her profess to be her regular crew, and disown all acquaintance with the crew of the ‘Juanita,’ but there are twice as many men on board as are entered in the ship’s books, and altogether their tale is far too flimsy to hold water. I have no doubt they are a prize crew from the ‘Juanita,’ and that the ship’s crew have all been murdered. So that we have done a very good-night’s work, I think.”
“Capital,” said the skipper. “Couldn’t well be better, except for our losses in killed and wounded. Let the poor fellows be transferred at once, if you please, Mr Flinn. When they are all stowed comfortably away, we will shift the silver into the frigate also; then there will not be much fear of its recapture. And lastly, we will shift the prisoners over to the frigate; then the prizes will not require such large prize crews.”
We then went on deck together, and I went away in the launch to effect the transfer of our killed and wounded. This was a long and painful business, some of the wounded requiring the most careful handling; but it was done at last, and by the end of the afternoon watch everything was ready for us to weigh and proceed to sea again, which we at once did; the prizes being ordered to rendezvous at Barbadoes.
Mr Vining, the third lieutenant, had charge of the “San Nicolas,” while the “Juanita” was entrusted to Carter, the master’s-mate, who had strict injunctions to stick close to and protect the ship.
We weighed in a body, and stood away to the southward, close-hauled on the larboard tack; the frigate cracking on, and leaving her prizes to follow at their best pace. Vining also carried on upon the “San Nicolas,” giving her every stitch of canvas she could show, while Carter had to haul down a couple of reefs in his mainsail and topsail, reef his foresail, and stow his flying-jib and fore-topmast-staysail in order to moderate his speed to that of his consort.
At two bells in the first dog-watch, the crew were mustered, the men having cleaned and shifted their rig for the occasion, while the officers appeared in full-dress, sail was shortened, and the ship hove-to. The bodies of the five poor fellows who had fallen in the attack of the previous night were placed in the lee gangway, sewn up in their hammocks, each with an eighteen-pound shot at his feet, and the ensign spread over them as a pall. The skipper stationed himself at their heads with the prayer-book in his hand, and, having looked along the deck fore and aft to satisfy himself that everything was as it should be, took off his cocked hat, the rest of us uncovering at his example.
“I am the Resurrection and the Life, saith the Lord. He that believeth in Me, though he were dead, yet shall he live; and whosoever liveth and believeth in Me shall never die.”
The words, in all their solemn beauty of promise, uttered in a voice which quivered slightly with emotion, fell clearly and distinctly from the captain’s lips, and went straight to the hearts of the throng of ocean warriors who had gathered to bid a last long, sad farewell to their fallen comrades, and to consign them with all honour to a sailor’s grave. The bronzed and bearded faces of the listeners wore an expression of gravity well suited to the most solemn ceremonial of the Christian faith, and as the impressive service proceeded, more than one of the stalwart seamen, who had a few hours before fought side by side with those who now lay at their feet wrapped cold and stark in their bloody shrouds, dashed with a hasty and furtive hand the unwonted tears away.