At length Ronald went below to snatch a mouthful of food, and took the opportunity of paying a visit to the wounded midshipman, Alfonse Gerardin. He had been placed in the gun-room with the rest of the French officers; he lifted up his head as Ronald entered the cabin.
After returning the salutation, he remained silent, and then he exclaimed, somewhat bitterly, “Ah, how different are our lots! you have gained a victory, have come out of the battle unhurt, and have been placed on the first step of the ladder, up which you may climb to the highest—while here I lie, a prisoner badly wounded, and, alas! have just discovered that I have lost the only friend I had in the world.”
“Oh, you are mistaken; I am sure that I have many, and so would you if you proved them,” said Ronald, in a cheerful tone. “You are wounded and ill; when you recover you will be in better spirits; but tell me, who is the friend whose loss you mourn?”
“He was the second lieutenant of this ship, and he was killed early in the action with you,” answered young Gerardin, with a sigh. “He was a brave man. I loved him as a son loves his father, and for long I thought he was my father. Only just before we were going into action did he tell me that I should find all the particulars about myself in a box, in a house where we lived when we were on shore, near Brest. I thought at first that he was jesting, and asked no questions, and it was only after he was killed that I believed he spoke the truth. Poor dear Pierre Gerardin! you were always kind and good to me, and I shall never see you again.”
The young foreigner gave way to his grief with a vehemence which somewhat astonished Ronald, accustomed to the more phlegmatic temperaments of the north. He tried to comfort him, but in vain, and when the surgeon came he intimated to Ronald that he had better leave him, as talking to a stranger seemed to agitate him in an extraordinary degree.
“He seems very sorry for the loss of his guardian, but he is an odd fellow, and I don’t quite like the look of his countenance,” said Ronald to himself, as he left the cabin.
As soon as he reached the deck he looked out to ascertain what progress the stranger had made. Her courses were already seen from the deck, appearing above the horizon. The work on board the two frigates was going forward as energetically as ever. Still there was yet much to be done before they could be put in good fighting order. The “Thisbe” was by far the most advanced of the two, still the bravest on board would rather have avoided than sought a fight just then. On came the stranger.
“Well, Morton, just say what you think of her?” said Dicky Glover, handing a telescope to Ronald; “there’s a mighty Frenchified look about those topsails.”
“I have not much experience in the matter,” answered Ronald, modestly; “but she looks very like the ‘Concorde,’ as she appeared when standing out toward us.”
“That’s what Mr Calder and the rest think,” observed Glover. “Well, we are ready for the fellow whoever he may be; and for my part, I’d sooner blow our prize up into the sky than let her be taken from us; wouldn’t you, Morton?”