"'What is all this about?' inquired the captain of the Endymion; and being told of the scruples of the strangers, insisted upon their coming up. He very soon explained to them the utter impossibility, at such a moment, of finding out any particular transport amongst between three and four hundred ships, every one of which was following her own way. We found out afterwards that they only were apprehensive of having it imagined they had designedly come to the frigate for better quarters. Nothing, of course, was farther from our thoughts; indeed, it was evidently the result of accident. So we sent away their little boat, and just at that moment the gun-room steward announced breakfast. We invited our new friends down, and gave them a hearty meal in peace and comfort—a luxury they had not enjoyed for many a long and rugged day.
"Our next care was to afford our tired warriors the much-required comforts of a razor and clean linen. We divided the party amongst us; and I was so much taken with one of these officers, that I urged him to accept such accommodation as my cabin and wardrobe afforded. He had come to us without one stitch of clothes beyond what he then wore, and these, to say the truth, were not in the best condition, at the elbows and other angular points of his frame. Let that pass—he was as fine a fellow as ever stepped; and I had much pride and pleasure in taking care of him during the passage.
"We soon became great friends; but on reaching England we parted, and I never saw him more. Of course he soon lost sight of me, but his fame rose high, and, as I often read his name in the Gazettes during the subsequent campaigns in the Peninsula, I looked forward with a gradually increasing anxiety to the renewal of an acquaintance begun so auspiciously. At last I was gratified by a bright flash of hope in this matter, which went out, alas, as speedily as it came. Not quite six years after these events, I came home from India, in command of a sloop of war. Before entering the Channel, we fell in with a ship which gave us the first news of the battle of Waterloo, and spared us a precious copy of the Duke of Wellington's despatch; and within five minutes after landing at Portsmouth, I met a near relation of my own. This seemed a fortunate rencontre, for I had not received a letter from home for nearly a year—and I eagerly asked him—
"'What news of all friends?'
"'I suppose,' he said, 'you know of your sister's marriage?'
"'No, indeed! I do not!—which sister?'
"He told me.
"'But to whom is she married?' I cried out with intense impatience, and wondering greatly that he had not told me this at once.
"'Sir William De Lancey was the person,' he answered. But he spoke not in the joyous tone that befits such communications.
"'God bless me!' I exclaimed. 'I am delighted to hear that. I know him well—we picked him up in a boat, at sea, after the battle of Corunna, and I brought him home in my cabin in the Endymion. I see by the despatch, giving an account of the late victory, that he was badly wounded—how is he now? I observe by the postscript to the Duke's letter that strong hopes are entertained of his recovery.'