And again the unhappy young officer buried his face in his hands, while his whole frame still trembled convulsively with grief. Ethelston used every exertion to soothe and allay his agitation. He assured him that the wound he had received was not serious, that the pistol was fired under a strong excitement, and in the turmoil of a bloody fray, when no man’s thoughts are sufficiently collected to regulate his conduct; and he forgave him so freely, and mingled his forgiveness with so many expressions of kindness and esteem, that he succeeded at length in restoring him to a certain degree of composure. Nothing, however, would satisfy L’Estrange but that he should have his wounds instantly dressed; and he ran himself and summoned the surgeon, resolving to be present at the operation.
When Ethelston’s clothes were removed, it appeared that, besides a few flesh–cuts, of no great consequence, he had received two severe shot wounds: one from a musket–ball, which had sunk deep into the left shoulder; the other from L’Estrange’s pistol, by which the bone of the left arm was broken. The latter was soon set and bandaged; but the ball could not be extracted from the former, either because the surgeon’s skill was not equal to the task, or from his not having with him the instruments requisite for the operation. As soon as this was over, Ethelston dismissed the surgeon; and turning good–humouredly to L’Estrange he said, “Now, my young friend, I want your assistance. I must lose no time in putting all our men aboard the launch, and taking in as many stores and necessaries as she will hold, for this brig is doomed; your swivel and the frigate’s guns have finished her; she is fast settling down, and in a couple of hours I expect her to sink.”
“On my word, sir,” said L’Estrange, “you will pardon me if I say that you are the strangest gentleman that I ever yet knew to command a trading brig! You out–manœuvre a frigate, capture her boats, fight as if you had done nothing but fight all your life, sit as quiet under that surgeon’s probes and tortures as if you were eating your dinner, and now talk calmly of scuttling your brig, for which you have run all these risks!”
“It is my philosophy, Monsieur L’Estrange. I tried first to get away without fighting; when that was impossible, I fought as well as I could. What has happened since, and what is yet to come, I bear as well as I can! All that I ask of you is, to keep your fellows in order, and make them assist mine in removing the wounded and the requisite stores on board the launch.” So saying, and again saluting his prisoner, he went on deck.
Though he struggled thus manfully against his emotion, it was with a heavy heart that Ethelston prepared to bid a final adieu to his little vessel, which he loved much for her own sake,—more perhaps for the name she bore. While giving the necessary orders for this melancholy duty, his attention was called by Gregson to a sail that was coming up with the light evening breeze astern. One look through the glass sufficed to show him that she hoisted French colours; and L’Estrange, who now came on deck, immediately knew her to be The Hirondelle,—an armed cutter, that acted on this cruise as a tender to The Epervier. A momentary glow overspread the countenance of Ethelston, as he felt that resistance was hopeless, and that in another hour his brig would be sunk, and his brave crew prisoners. But being too proud to allow the French officer to see his emotion, he controlled it by a powerful effort, and continued to give his orders with his accustomed coolness and precision.
Though young L’Estrange’s heart beat high at this sudden and unlooked–for deliverance, he could not forbear his admiration at his captor’s self–possession; and his own joy was damped by the remembrance of that portion of his own conduct which he had so deeply lamented, and also of the parole he had given, not to bear arms again during the war. Meantime the removal of the men, the stores, the provisions, and papers from the brig went on with the greatest order and despatch.
Ethelston was the last to leave her: previous to his doing so, he made the carpenter knock out the oakum and other temporary plugs with which he had stopped the leaks, being determined that she should not fall into the hands of the French. This being completed, the launch shoved off; and while pulling heavily for the shore, the crew looked in gloomy silence at their ill–fated brig. Ethelston was almost unmanned; for his heart and his thoughts were on Ohio’s banks, and he could not separate the recollections of Lucy from the untimely fate of her favourite vessel. He gazed until his sight and brain grew dizzy; he fancied that he saw Lucy’s form on the deck of the brig, and that she stretched her arms to him for aid. Even while he thus looked, the waters poured fast into their victim. She settled,—sunk; and in a few minutes scarce a bubble on their surface told where The Pride of Ohio had gone down! A groan burst from Ethelston’s bosom. Nature could no longer endure the accumulated weight of fatigue and intense pain occasioned by his wounds: he sunk down insensible in the boat, and when he recovered his senses, found himself a prisoner on board The Hirondelle.
Great had been the surprise of the lieutenant who commanded her at the disappearance of the brig which he had been sent to secure; and greater still at the condition of the persons found on board the launch. His inquiries were answered by young L’Estrange with obvious reluctance: so having paid the last melancholy duties to the dead, and afforded all the assistance in his power to the wounded, he put about the cutter, and made sail for The Epervier.
As soon as young L’Estrange found himself on the frigate’s deck, he asked for an immediate and private audience of his father, to whom he detailed without reserve all the circumstances of the late expedition. He concluded his narration with the warmest praises of Ethelston’s courage, conduct, and humanity, while he repeated that bitter censure of his own behaviour which he had before expressed on board The Pride of Ohio. The gallant old captain, though mortified at the failure of the enterprise and the loss of men that he had sustained, could not but appreciate the candour, and feel for the mortification of his favourite son; and he readily promised that Ethelston should be treated with the greatest care and kindness, and that the most favourable terms, consistent with his duty, should be offered to the prisoners.
Young L’Estrange gave up his own berth to Ethelston, whose severe sufferings had been succeeded by a weakness and lethargy, yet more dangerous. The surgeon was ordered to attend him; and his care was extended to all the wounded, without distinction of country.