An action, and a well-fought one, had evidently taken place, and the corvette had brought in her captured prize; but then came the question, who among shipmates and friends had suffered? True Blue could not help thinking of Paul Pringle, whom he loved with an affection which could not have been surpassed had Paul been his father, and Peter Ogle, and Abel Bush, and his own messmates. Had any of them been killed or hurt?
He knew that Sir Henry, who had remained doing duty on board the Diamond, would feel somewhat as he did; so he went to him, and Sir Henry gratified him by saying that he would at once make arrangements for returning to the corvette the instant she anchored. A boat was got ready, and away they pulled for her. They were on board almost as soon as the anchor was dropped.
True Blue glanced eagerly forward. Paul Pringle was on the forecastle, call in mouth, issuing the necessary orders for furling sails. Peter Ogle was not to be seen, nor was Abel Bush, but they might be about some duty below; nor were Tim Fid nor Gregory Gipples visible, though they ought to have been on deck.
Having reported himself as come on board with Sir Henry to the first lieutenant, who was near the gangway, he dived below. Numerous hammocks slung up forward showed that there were many sick or wounded, while groups of Frenchmen, with sentries over them, proved that a prize had been taken.
He first hurried to the gunner’s cabin. The door was closed—he knocked—there was no answer—his heart sank within him—his thoughts flew to Mary and her mother. Could Peter Ogle be among the killed in the late action? He dared not ask; he opened the door and looked in. The cabin was empty. He went next to that of Abel Bush.
“Come in,” said the carpenter in a weak voice, very unlike his usual sturdy bass. “True Blue, is it you, my lad? Right glad to see you!” he exclaimed in a more cheerful tone. “Well, we have had a warm brush. Only sorry you were not with us; but we took her, as you see, though we had a hard struggle for it. Do you know, Billy, these Frenchmen do fight well sometimes. They’ve given me an ugly knock in the ribs; but the doctor says I shall be all to rights soon, so no matter. I don’t want to be laid up in ordinary yet. Time enough when I am as old as Lord Howe. He keeps afloat; so may I for twenty years to come yet, I hope.”
Thus he ran on. He was evidently feverish from his wound.
“But oh, Abel, where is Peter Ogle?” exclaimed True Blue, interrupting him at length.
“Peter?—oh, aboard the prize!” answered Abel. “Where did you think he was?”
“All right,” replied True Blue.