“Oh, Terence, it must be Murray!” exclaimed Jack, almost falling off the hammock-nettings overboard. “And yet, no, it can’t be; it must not be. Who is he, that midshipman?” shouted Jack; but the boat was already at some distance, and the people in her did not hear the question asked.
The report soon got about the decks that Murray was killed. Jack and Adair would have been gratified at hearing all the things said about him, and the grief expressed at his loss. Still, after giving vent to their grief for a time, they began to hope that possibly he might not have been killed, but only desperately wounded, and they resolved to ask leave to go on board the Hastings to ascertain the state of the case. As they were going aft for that purpose, a boat came alongside, and in a few seconds afterwards, who should appear on deck uninjured in limb, and in capital spirits, but Murray himself.
“Who are you? what are you? where do you come from?” exclaimed Terence, scarcely knowing what he said. “Why, Alick, to a certainty you are dead, are you not?”
“I hope not,” answered Murray, laughing at the reception his two friends were giving him. “I have not been hit or hurt that I know of.”
“All right,” exclaimed Jack, springing forward and grasping his hand, which he wrung heartily. “I am so glad. It would have been too dreadful if you had been killed.”
“Unhappily, one poor fellow of our party, a midshipman, L—, of the Hastings, was killed,” observed Murray. “However, let us promise each other for the future, not to fancy that any accident has happened to those who are absent, unless we have very strong evidence of the same.”
“Agreed! agreed!” the other two exclaimed. “Whatever anybody else may tell us, we’ll all believe that we shall meet again somewhere or other, and be happy together.”
It is extraordinary what an effect the notion the three midshipmen had taken up had on them. If Adair was away, though perhaps on some far-distant station, Jack frequently had to say that he did not know where he was to be found, but he always added, “I am certain that we shall meet again before long. What message shall I give him?” Murray said much the same thing of Jack or Adair, and they said the same of Murray. I cannot follow them through the various scenes of the war in Syria. While Sir Charles Napier, to his great delight, was acting the part of a general on shore, with some of his naval followers as his aides-de-camp, they were employed on board their ship, which, with the rest of the squadron, was engaged in sailing along the coast in cooperating with the army, and in blowing up and capturing one fortress after another of those which still held out for Mehemet Ali. Now and then both bluejackets and marines landed, and, much to their satisfaction, stormed the old pacha’s strongholds, and literally fulfilled Charley Napier’s promise of pulling the stones about the ears of his governors. On one occasion success did not attend the British arms, but, as Paddy Adair observed, “It’s an ill wind which blows no one good,” and he here had an opportunity which he had so long desired of distinguishing himself. The fortress was a very strong one, with a high thick-walled tower which looked fully capable of defying the battle and the breeze for a thousand years. The ship stood in with the intention of battering it down, but after firing away for an hour or more, little impression was made, and it was resolved to endeavour to take it by storm. Jack had to stay on board, greatly to his disgust, and he did say that he considered himself a most ill-used officer. Adair and Murray accompanied the body of seamen who, with the marines of the squadron, and some mountaineers who had been taken on board along the coast, were landed to form the storming-party. The ground between the castle and the sea was laid out in gardens. Here a body of the enemy was drawn up. The storming-party landed to the south of the town, covered by the fire of the ships, which also cleared the gardens of the enemy. The marines and bluejackets now pushed bravely on, but encountered a terrific fire from the troops within the forts. Murray and Adair were side by side, scrambling over walls and leaping ditches, and cutting through hedges of prickly pears in spite of the showers of shot which rattled round their heads.
“I say, Alick, poets talk of genial showers; I wonder what they would call the shower now rattling round us?” cried Adair, as he waved on his men.
“A leaden shower, I should think,” said Alick.