“I feel certain that he will die unless he is properly cared for,” I answered.
He called to one of the blacks who belonged to the armourer’s crew on board the French frigate, and told him to go below and knock off the Englishman’s irons. I thought I might put in a word for Larry.
“May they release my foster-brother?” I asked. “Poor fellow, he did but his duty in defending the brig, and I’ll be responsible for his good conduct.”
“Yes. Lieutenant Dubois fancied that I spoke of both of them, and for my part, I am very willing to do as you wish,” he answered.
I hurried below, accompanied by the black. Nash was still breathing hard, and scarcely had the armourer commenced operations, when the poor fellow fell back in my arms, his spirit set free before his body was liberated from the irons. The black continued knocking away, quite indifferent to what had occurred.
“It’s all over with poor Ben,” exclaimed Larry, who was eagerly watching the operation.
“Yes, he’s gone,” I answered, as I felt the honest seaman’s wrist.
The black finished his work, and then stretched the body out on the deck.
“And now, my friend, I’ll beg of you to release this young fellow,” I said. “You wouldn’t like to have irons on your wrists longer than you could help.”
“Not de first time I hab dem on, and big chain too; but dis nuttin’,” said the black, and a few blows sufficed to set Larry free.