"That stroke is very unfortunate," replied the first lieutenant; "but it cannot last long."
"No," said the captain; "they must either strike soon, or blow us out of the water. How is my ship below."
"Much cut up, sir; but our remaining hands work their guns well. The enemy must have suffered severely."
I can convey no impression of the calmness with which these few words were spoken in the middle of this carnage and noise. We had already, as I afterwards learned, been engaged two glasses. All conception of the time, from the first broadside until the last gun was fired, seemed to have been banished from our minds. Scarcely had the conversation between the captain and lieutenant finished, when the Frenchman's mizzenmast fell forward, their fire began to slacken, and we, in a clear interval, could see a bustling on board.
"Boarders, arm," shouted the captain; then, in a lower voice, to one of the officers—"They are either going to run for it, or board us; were our rigging not so much cut up, she might be ours." It was at this moment he first showed his impatience:—"Aim at her rigging," he cried—"she shuns the contest—ten guineas to the gun that disables her;" but her sails began to fill, and she bore away before the wind, leaving us too much disabled to follow her.
When the first firing ceased, I felt so fatigued and faint, from the loss of blood and the pain of my hand, that I leaned upon my gun, almost incapable of exertion. A double allowance of grog was now served out to the survivors. I felt revived, though still unable for duty, and went to the cockpit to see James, who had been carried there, and to have my own hand dressed. A cockpit scene has been often described, but description is a burlesque of the reality. We had twelve killed, and twenty wounded, more or less severely. I found my poor friend lying upon a mattress, calm and resigned—no groan or sob escaped him. One of his legs had been broken and cut by a splinter, and there was a wound from a musket-ball in his shoulder. Both had been dressed by the surgeon, who was a humane, active, and skilful man. When my own scratch was cleaned and dressed, all my attention was bestowed upon James and others. An hospital was rigged out, and every care humanity could suggest paid to the wounded; and our otherwise austere captain was as mild and kindly by the side of the victims as a nurse. James lay, for the most part, silent and in deep thought. When he did speak, it was of indifferent subjects; and, to my frequent inquiries how he felt his wounds, he replied, that they engaged not his thoughts further than that he feared he might recover.
"That I do not wish," said he. "It is long since I received the wound that is destined to prove mortal, independently of these disruptions of the flesh, which merely confine me to this sick-bed, and are come rather as a remedy. Elder, think not I am ungrateful for your kindness: I thank you from my heart. There is one favour you must promise to do me; and I feel assured I may trust you."
"Name it," answered I; "and if I should die in the attempt, I shall not fail to do all in my power to accomplish your smallest wish." He pressed my hand, which was grasped in his.
"Enough, Elder," said he; "all I request is easily done; yet I was not the less anxious to find one whom I could confide in. As soon as this oppressed heart ceases to beat, you must take this locket and ring"—and he uncovered his bosom, upon which they lay, besmeared with his blood. Smiling, he continued: "The blood is a proper envelope for them; and I am only so far happy that I was not killed out-right—for then they might have fallen into hands which would have done them no justice. These baubles and I must be forgotten together, whether I die here at sea, or survive until we reach Jamaica. You must, when I am to be consigned to my abode of peace and rest, place them where they lie at present. You will do this for me?"
I pressed his hand, for words were denied me. My tears fell upon his pale face, as I stooped to kiss his forehead; a sigh was all that passed between us; but our eyes told more than our lips could have uttered. I left him alone, to enjoy his own reflections, and went upon deck. In a few hours the surgeon's worst fears were realised; tetanus came on, and he died the following morning in my arms. I fulfilled his last request, and his body was launched into the restless ocean on the day before we reached Kingston. His man-of-war's name, as the seamen call it, when one—a different from their real one—is assumed for any reason that requires concealment, was James Walden, by which he was rated in the ship's books. Next day, when his effects, scanty as they were, were put up for sale, I bought a small prayer-book, which I had often seen him use, for less money than I have seen a few needles and a little thread bring at the mainmast. Amongst all that he possessed, there was not a single scrap of paper, or anything by which I could be led to guess who he was. On a blank page of the prayer-book there was written, in a small, beautiful female hand, "Matilda Everard;" but whether it was written by the individual he had once mentioned in his sleep, or some other, it was impossible to say.