This address seemed to have some effect on the general, who, however, issued no counter-orders to the officers charged with the execution of the prisoners. The colonel, with the two masters and their four mates, together with the principal natives (all of whom appeared to be of the rank of officers) were placed in a row, when several soldiers came behind them for the purpose of binding handkerchiefs over their eyes. The colonel turned round to the men who were about to perform that office for him with a calm smile.
“I desire to gaze my last on the blue sky above us,” he said gently. “Let me at least die like a soldier—it is the only favour I ask.”
His companions followed the colonel’s example, and begged to be allowed to die with eyes unbound. The general now ordered the officer in command of the firing-party to hurry his preparations.
“As you have so many to dispose of, it would have made shorter work had you placed them all together,” he shouted out.
The rest of the prisoners had, in the meantime, been led on one side to await their turn. The firing-party now advanced—the doomed men gazed at them with pale, though undaunted countenances. The commanding officer, in a loud, harsh voice, gave the usual order, “Make ready,” “Present,” then came the fatal word—“Fire!” Some fell forward, shot dead; others were struggling and writhing on the ground; Colonel O’Regan alone was standing upright. It was but for a moment; he was seen to stagger forward, then to fall heavily on his face. Regardless of the danger they ran from the firing-party, who advanced to plunge their bayonets into the bodies of those who still had life in them, Tom and Archy dashed forward with the idea of helping their unfortunate friend. They attempted to raise him, but the expression of his countenance, and the blood oozing from a wound in his breast, told them but too truly that all was over; and had not their guards, who were alarmed on their own account at having allowed them to escape, dragged them back they would probably have been bayoneted on the spot. Just then an officer, who came galloping up with looks of consternation on his countenance, informed the general that his corvette, the chief vessel of his navy with which he believed that he could defy the world, had struck her flag to a British brig-of-war, and that his brig had been sent to the bottom. The news produced an electric effect on him and his officers. He at once gave orders that the surviving English prisoners should be conducted back to gaol under charge of a small body of troops, while the rest were marched off to the batteries.
“We have had a narrow escape,” said Tom to Archy, not at the time aware to what cause they were indebted for their preservation. “We ought indeed to be thankful; but I would have given anything to have saved the colonel. Poor Miss O’Regan, what will she do with no one to look after her?”
“But we will do our best!” answered Archy; “and as I have a notion that she will some day be my cousin, I have a sort of right, you know, to watch over her.”
“But in the meantime what shall we say to that poor young lady?” asked Tom.
“I haven’t the heart to tell her that her father has been shot,” answered Archy, “though, of course, something must be said; we must not tell her a falsehood, that’s certain.”
“Then we must just say that we were marched out into the country, when firing was heard which we have no doubt came from an English ship of war, and then we were marched back again,” said Tom. “If she asks any further questions we need not say anything more, and perhaps before long we shall all be on board, when she will be better able to bear her misfortune than she would be shut up in prison.”