I told him, “Tom Ogle.”
“Ah, Tom Ogle,” said he. “Don’t give way, my man. We were doing our duty, and there’s One aloft who’ll not forget us if we trust in Him.”
“Bless you for those words, Mr Sumner,” Tom Ogle gasped out between the paroxysms of his pain; “they do a poor fellow’s heart good.”
All this time we were running off the land, with a strong fair breeze, every moment the enemy’s shot falling farther and farther astern. My great fear now was that some of my men would bleed to death before they could receive surgical help. However, they had bound up each other’s wounds in the best way they could. From the enemy we at all events were safe. I did my utmost to keep up the spirits of my men. I was thereby performing, I knew, half the doctor’s work. I had been eagerly looking out in the offing for our squadron. To my intense satisfaction I now made out a sail standing towards us from the northward. I pointed her out to Grampus.
“She’s the ‘Orpheus,’ sir. I knows the look of them taw’sels too well to be deceived,” he answered, after watching her for a few moments.
“You’re right, Grampus. It’s her without doubt,” said I. “Hurrah, my lads! We’ll soon be snug on board the old barkie.”
We neared the ship rapidly. Many eager faces were looking out at us as we got alongside. Poor little Harry Sumner first claimed my attention. I stooped down to lift him up, that he might be handed on deck. His cheeks were blanched, his eyes were closed.
“Oh, dear, oh dear! is the child dead?” exclaimed old Grampus, as he took him from me.
“I fear so,” I answered with a sad heart. “Let the doctor look to him at once.”
One after the other the wounded men were handed up.