Nor were the externals of the scene altogether inappropriate to the occasion. The frigate, pausing in her rapid flight, swayed slowly and majestically upon the bosom of the surges which would soon receive the bodies of her dead heroes, and hung, as if in sentient grief, over the spot which was to be their tomb. Her graceful hull, lofty spars, and snowy canvas gleamed refulgent in the last rays of the setting sun as he sank to his rest through a bank of rainbow-tinted clouds, and the rising wind sobbed and moaned dirge-like through her taut rigging.
At length the glorious luminary touched the horizon, staining the bosom of the waters to a deep rosy hue, and flinging a broad pathway of glittering molten gold from the ocean’s rim across the restless billows clear up to the frigate’s side. Slowly sank the broad disk behind the purple horizon, as the solemn ceremony drew to an end. The ensign, that meteor flag, beneath whose folds so many heroes have fought and died, was gently raised, and at the words “Forasmuch as it hath pleased Almighty God of His great mercy to take unto Himself the souls of our dear brothers here departed, we therefore commit their bodies to the deep,”—the inner ends of the gratings upon which the dead lay were slowly elevated, the sullen plunge of the bodies smote upon the ear, and the last ray of the departing sun flashed upon the swirling eddies where they had disappeared, dyeing them deep in crimson and gold.
The ocean suddenly darkened, the gorgeous cloud-tints faded into tender grey, and, as the service came to a conclusion, a gun boomed the frigate’s farewell to her lost ones; the main-yard was swung; and the dead were left to their last long sleep deep within the sheltering bosom of the ocean they had loved in life so well.
We stood on until midnight, when we tacked to the northward; in which direction we steered during the whole of next day and the following night, when we deemed ourselves far enough to windward to enable us to pass between the Islands of Saint Lucia and Saint Vincent and fetch Barbadoes on the other tack.
In the meantime all the wounded were doing well except poor little Fisher. His injuries were of a very serious nature, a cutlass-blow having cloven his right shoulder until it had nearly severed the arm from the body, and his right lung was penetrated by a pike-thrust. The skipper had ordered a cot to be slung for the little fellow in his own cabin, and thither I went as often as I could, to sit beside him, help him to the cooling drinks which our kind-hearted medico had concocted for him, and cheer him up when his spirits drooped, as they too often did. Exhausted by loss of blood and severe physical suffering, his nervous system appeared to have completely broken down, and the incessant heave and roll of the ship distressed him almost beyond his powers of endurance.
“Oh! Chester,” he said to me one day, “if I could but be on shore, I believe I should get better. It tires me out to lie here, hour after hour, watching the sway of the ship. And then it is so dreadfully hot here, although the stern-ports are always open. What I should like is to be on shore, in a nice large room, with the windows open and the sea-breeze rushing in, laden with the odour of flowers, and to lie and listen to the rustle of leaves, and watch the branches of the trees swaying in the wind, with the birds and butterflies glancing to and fro, and the sunlight glittering upon the water. I can’t sleep now, with the tramping of feet overhead, the creaking of the bulkheads, and the everlasting wash of the sea sounding in my ears, but I believe I could sleep then; and if I could sleep I feel that I should get better.”
A day or two after he had said this, I went down to see him toward evening, and at the cabin-door I met the doctor just coming out.
“How is he this evening, doctor?” I inquired.
“Worse; very much worse. I am beginning to despair of him now. He is light-headed, and I question if he will recognise you,” was the discouraging reply.
I went in and found the skipper himself standing by the cot, holding one dry burning hand in his, listening to the incoherent ramblings of the poor lad, and endeavouring to soothe him. Home scenes and incidents of school-days seemed to be uppermost in his mind at the moment that I entered, but soon afterwards his thoughts wandered away to the night of the attack.