Somers was severely, if not dangerously, injured. He was borne tenderly to his state-room by his brother officers, as the cheers for the great victory were sounding through the fleet. There had been seven men killed and thirty-five wounded on board the Chatauqua. The surgeon was in the cockpit, busily engaged in attending to the wounds of the poor fellows, and could not immediately examine the young officer, who, it was evident, required no surgical operation.
The ship, though considerably cut up by the shots from the fort and from the rebel steamers, was still in condition for active service. The fleet anchored in the bay, out of the reach of the guns of Fort Morgan. Officers were busy in making the necessary surveys, and the men were occupied in repairing damages and restoring order about the decks and rigging.
"How do you feel, Mr. Somers?" asked Mr. Hackleford, entering the sufferer's room, as soon as he could leave the deck.
"I do not suffer much pain, sir; but I am afraid I am badly damaged in the hull," replied Somers, with a languid smile.
He was very pale, and lay very still. He was numb from the effects of the shock given him by the splinter, and some of the functions of his frame seemed to be suspended. The first lieutenant was alarmed, and sent a second messenger for the surgeon, who presently made his appearance, having disposed of the severest cases in the cockpit.
"What do you think of him, doctor?" asked Mr. Hackleford.
"I fear he is badly injured," replied Dr. De Plesion, shaking his head.
"Dangerously?" whispered the first lieutenant.
The surgeon shook his head.
"Speak out, doctor," said the patient, faintly. "I am not afraid to die for my country. Please tell me the truth."