“I’m afraid so, in my side,” was the answer. “My poor mother, and Jeannette, I shall never see them more.”
“I hope that things are not so bad as that,” responded Bill. “I will try and get you below. Here!” and he called to one of the prisoners who had remained on deck, and who, being very glad to get out of the way of the shot, willingly assisted Bill in dragging the wounded man to the companion-hatchway, down which the two together lifted him, and placed him in the gun-room.
Fortunately the French surgeon had been ill in his berth, but had now got up, prepared to attend to his professional duties. As yet, however, none of the wounded prisoners had been brought aft, and Pierre, who had been placed on the gun-room table, was the first man the surgeon took under his care.
“He is not badly hurt, I hope,” said Bill, rather anxiously.
“That’s more than I can say, my young friend,” answered the surgeon, “but I will attend to him. I shall have patients enough on my hands directly, I fear.”
Bill felt that he ought not to remain a moment longer below, though he greatly wished to learn how much Pierre had been injured. All he could do, therefore, was to press his friend’s hand, and spring up again on deck.
The battery was still firing away at the prize, and every now and then a crashing sound, as the shot struck her, showed that she was within range of its guns; but she was rapidly distancing the boats, which could now only be dimly seen astern.
The British crew raised a cheer when they found that they had to a certainty secured their prize. Still the battery continued firing, but not another shot struck her, and at length the dim outline of the Thisbe was seen ahead. Shortly afterwards the prize, rounding to under the frigate’s quarter, was received with hearty cheers by her crew.