CHAPTER XXXVIII.EXPIATION.
Among the killed on board theXyphiaswas Captain Spear.
Whether it had been owing to his long enforced abstinence from his bane, strong drink, or to the long hoursof solitude giving him ample time for reflection on the desert island, or to earlier and holier associations revived, or to all these influences combined, I do not know; but it is certain that a gradual change for the better had been stealing over this man for some time before the sea fight.
Up to the day of the engagement he had had the freedom of the ship. On that day, however, in the beginning of the action, Captain Yetsom, meeting him on deck, had said:
“I know how hard it is for a brave man to be cooped up in his quarters while a battle is going on; but prudential considerations oblige me to send you to yours. Were you at large here, unforeseen accidents might place it in your power to do us much injury.”
“Captain Yetsom,” said Spear, speaking earnestly and seeking to meet the eye of the commander of theXyphias, “if you will give me the freedom of your deck during this engagement, I promise you upon my sacred honor that I will take no part in it against you or for your enemy. I owe the dogs who deserted me no love or service, Heaven knows! And even should circumstance place it in my power to harm you, or aid them, I will do neither. I swear it in the hearing of high Heaven!”
Captain Yetsom looked into the eyes that had been seeking his so earnestly, and saw in them such good faith as won his confidence.
“Well—I will trust you,” he said, and hurried off to his duties.
Spear had promised no more than this.
All through the exciting chase he had remained a silent, inactive spectator, brooding mournfully over—what?
Officers and men, passing rapidly on their hurried errands, sometimes glanced at this sombre figure like a statue there, and wondered carelessly what his thoughts and feelings might be.
And what were they in truth? Who could tell? Was his love for the old flag stealing over him? Did he remember how his father, now in his grave, had sailed and served under it for more than forty well-spent years?How that brave and patriotic father had taught him to love and honor it as the emblem of his nation, the safeguard of liberty, theægisunder which the oppressed of all the earth found or hoped to find protection? Or did he remember his own stainless and promising youth when he had been the pride of his father, the joy of his mother, the idol of his brothers and sisters, and the very life’s life of her, the fair one, dearer than all the rest, who was to have been his wife, but from whom the sins of his manhood had utterly divided him.
Ah, seduced by evil counselors, misled by specious arguments, tempted by ambition, and weakened by that growing vice, he had suffered himself to be drawn in and hurried down into that malebogle, in which so many brave, misguided spirits perished! He had deserted the old Flag—he had raised his hand against it!
I cannot speak here with assurance, for I gathered these antecedents of this man from another source than his lips; but I think it must have been memories like these that caused the sobs and tears that shook his broad chest and flowed down his bronzed cheeks as he stood again under the old Flag, among the men who were fighting for it. I say no one could read his heart or tell his thoughts and feelings; but many saw his actions and heard the few words he uttered.
“God have mercy on me, what have I been doing? God forgive me, for I have been mad, I think!”
While he had been standing thus absorbed, entranced, by the memories of the past and the pains of the present, the storm of battle had been gathering all around him.
The ships had been manœuvring and were now abreast of each other, pouring in their broadsides.
The tremendous crash of the reports aroused him. He started up, his eyes kindled with a new resolution, and he watched his opportunity to put it in practice.
It came. He saw a brave gunner fall. He sprang to fill his place, and served the gun until he was relieved. After that he threw himself into the action with all his soul, now serving a gun that was short handed, now, cap in hand, cheering on the men. He drew attention from all. Many a brave old soldier, in the midst of the battle, found time to grasp his hand, saying:
“You are one of us still, God bless you!” or words to that effect. One earnest old gunner of the order of men who prayed and fought, gave him a grip, exclaiming, with more cordiality than coherence:
“‘There is more joy in Heaven over one,’et cetera, and ‘go thou and do likewise.’”
On seeing his zeal and devotion, Justin found time once to dart to his side and say:
“Heaven bless you for your noble example! I had done you injustice in the past! Forgive me now!”
“You did me no injustice, Mr. Rosenthal. I had given you too much reason by word and deed to think the worst of me. I was never so evil as I made myself out to be, however; though evil of late have been my days. Enough! that is past! And I am offering up my life in expiation now.”
He was indeed. He never shrank from duty or from danger. And, not ten minutes after these words had left his lips, a cannon ball from the enemy struck and cut him in two. And thus at last was his promise to his dying father grandly redeemed.
To return from this episode.
Lieutenant Ethel, on leaving Justin, ordered the forehold of theXyphiasto be prepared to receive the prisoners. Then he mustered his men under arms, passed over to theSea Scourge, ordered the hatches to be taken off and the prisoners to come up on deck.
One hundred and nineteen men responded to the call, and were all marched to their place of confinement, with the exception of the officers, who were furnished quarters with the officers of theXyphias.
As soon as the prisoners were secured, a portion of the ship’s company were set to putting theXyphiasin order. The decks were swabbed, the rigging righted, and all traces of the late conflict so effectually removed that she began again to look like one of our tidy men-of-war, and not like a cross between a shipwreck and a butcher’s shambles.
Lieutenant Ethel, with the surgeon and another portion of the crew, went over to theSea Scourgeto attend to her remaining wounded and to put her to rights.
The injured men on the upper deck having been alreadyremoved and relieved, the lieutenant and the surgeon passed at once to the lower deck, where a sight of horror met their eyes.
The wounded, dying and dead lay scattered thickly around. The groans of the living were more appalling than the ghastliness of the dying or the dead.
All that were still breathing were at once tenderly removed to the cockpit, where the surgeon of theXyphias, assisted by the surgeon of theSea Scourge, dressed their wounds, administered opiates, or in other ways sought to alleviate their sufferings.
Body after body of the dead was brought up, sewed in a sail-cloth winding sheet, with a weight at head and foot, and solemnly consigned to the deep to remain until that dread day when “the sea shall give up its dead.”
This sacred duty having been performed, the deck was swabbed and put in as good order as circumstances would admit.
The carpenter now reported that he had plugged all the shot-holes of both ships under or near the water lines, and sounded their pumps, and that neither of them now gained any more water.
Lieutenant Ethel then ordered that the further repairs needed by both vessels should be continued by watches both day and night, so that the benefit of the present calm might not be lost.
And then he went below and turned in to take the rest he so much needed.
Britomarte, on leaving Justin, had gone, as I said, down into the cockpit to look after her own especial cases among the wounded, and also to dispatch a messenger in search of Judith. An hour passed away, during which Britomarte had ministered to the wants of all her patients, and at the end of which her messenger returned without any news of Judith, who was nowhere to be found.
Miss Conyers now felt seriously alarmed lest some fatal accident had happened to the girl, or lest she, in her delirium of terror, had cast herself into the sea. In the midst of this anxiety, however, it occurred to her that at the cessation of the cannonading Judith might have returnedto the cabin. With this hope Britomarte returned thither.
She had scarcely reached the foot of the companion ladder, when she thought she heard a groan coming from the direction of the stateroom occupied in common by herself and Judith.
She hurried thither and opened the door, and there lay the girl tossing and moaning in high fever, brought on by excitement.
“Lorrd bless you, ma’am, is it yerself sure? Troth I thought you had forgot me entirely, and left me here to perish alone. Faix I’m burning up, so I am. May the divil fly away wid all say fights, for this has been the death iv me, so it has. Sure, I’m murthered complately from head to fut. And you left me to me fate, so you did.”
“Hush, Judith! You must be quiet, or you will grow worse. Try to compose yourself now, while I go and get something that will do you good,” said Miss Conyers, laying a towel wet with cold water upon the girl’s burning head.
Then she went in search of a surgeon and procured an opiate, which she administered to her patient. Then she renewed the wet towel, rearranged the disordered bed, darkened the room and left Judith to repose. If any of my readers imagine this portrait of Judith to be overdrawn, I can assure them it is not. I knew this girl for years. She was just the “medley of contraries”—the mixture of wit and folly, good sense and absurdity, spirit and cowardice, selfishness and self-devotion, that I represent her to have been. I lost her, and could have better spared a better.
From the cabin Miss Conyers returned to the cockpit, to her wounded, bringing smiles to the faces of the poor sufferers, as she tenderly eased their positions, turned their pillow, bathed their faces and hands, or held cooling drinks to their feverish lips.
It was while Britomarte was engaged in this humane work, that the surgeon was summoned on the upper deck. But little did she imagine that he was called to attend Justin or that Justin had the slightest need of his care.
Britomarte did not confine her attentions to thewounded on theXyphias. But when she had done all she could for them she visited theSea Scourgeand ministered to the sufferers there.
The next morning the repairs upon theXyphiaswere completed, so that she was once more in good fighting order.
The men were then transferred to theSea Scourgeto expedite the work there. Lieutenant Ethel found the decks of the prize clean and sweet, the wounded men in their hammocks, and the work progressing so rapidly that the privateer would be fit for sailing in twenty-four hours.
Britomarte, worn out by her arduous labors of the day before, slept very late that morning; and upon entering the cabin she found that the breakfast had been long set. She was very hungry, but not knowing the condition of her companions, she patiently waited for their appearance, only wondering at their prolonged absence.
At length the steward entered the cabin, and she inquired what detained the gentlemen.
The man, forewarned not to alarm her, answered that neither Captain Yetsom nor Mr. Rosenthal had risen yet.
So Britomarte, amazed at their self-indulgence and unsuspicious of their true state, breakfasted alone, and then took in a cup of tea and a round of toast to Judith, whose fever was now gone, but who still kept her bed from the weakness of reaction.
Finding still that her companions did not appear, she became uneasy and went to seek the surgeon and inquire of him the true reason of their absence.
Dr. Brown informed her that they were both wounded, though not dangerously; and that he had ordered both of them to keep quiet for a day or two.
“My Brother Justin wounded! And I not know it until now! Oh, Dr. Brown, I must go to him at once!” she exclaimed, in excessive agitation.
“No, Miss Conyers, you must not—you of all persons.”
“But I will go! Who shall hinder me? And why should I not? Why shouldn’t I, who have attended so many wounded seamen who had no claims upon me but those of common humanity, go and wait on my own——” her voice broke down in tears.
—“Sweetheart?” said the doctor, archly, finishing her sentence in his own way.
“No, sir! my own soul’s brother!” flashed Britomarte.
The doctor shrugged his shoulders.
“I ask you why I may not minister to my brother, as I have ministered to scores of strangers?”
“Because your presence would agitate him as it could not possibly agitate strangers. He must be kept quiet to-day. His wound is not a dangerous one, as it is now, but there are incident upon even slight wounds such things as irritative fevers, which are bad, and erysipelas, which is worse.”
Britomarte sank down upon a coil of rope and covered her face with her hands.
“Now don’t do that! You, the ‘Battle Queen’ of yesterday, to give way to-day because your—ahem! well! brother, since you will have it, brother—is wounded! I tell you his wound is not dangerous, scarcely serious. The worst of it is he concealed it too long. He concealed it until every other case was attended to—noble fellow! Now see here! I told you of what might possibly happen in case he should be excited, only to prove to you how necessary it is that he should be quiet. Now I will tell you what I will do with you. I will promise that if he is kept still to-day, he shall see you for a few minutes to-morrow or next day.”
But Britomarte was too much agitated to trust herself to speak. She started up, hurried to her stateroom, flung herself upon her berth and burst into tears.
“Justin wounded,” she sobbed, “and concealing his wound from all others until even the humblest sufferer was served! And concealing it even from me, to save me pain! How patient, how noble, how self-sacrificing he always is! Justin wounded! and ah! much more seriously than the doctor will admit. And if he should die! disappear from the earth forever! I could not live on it! I could not! Heavenly Father, spare him and save me this dread trial that I could not bear!”
Yes, truly, the “Battle Queen” of yesterday was a weeping woman to-day!
The next morning, on waking, both Captain Yetsom and Mr. Rosenthal found themselves much better, though stillso heavily oppressed with languor and weariness that they dozed away the whole day, indifferent to all that was going on around them and unconscious almost even of their own existence.
Britomarte again breakfasted alone, feeling very miserable. She had never realized so keenly how vitally necessary to her happiness Justin’s presence was. And she was not permitted to see him that day.
In the course of the forenoon Judith came out of her stateroom, cross and sulky, and muttering maledictions upon the sea, the ships, the guns, and most things in general.
Meanwhile the calm still continued and the works on the prize were all but finished.
On the third morning our two wounded friends were very much better.
Justin especially, whose hurt was the least severe, felt his strength so much revived, and his wish to see Britomarte so urgent, that in the afternoon he arose and dressed himself and crept out into the cabin.
Britomarte was seated with her elbow resting upon the center-table, and her forehead bowed upon her hands in deep thought.
Justin came quietly to her side, and resting his hand upon the table, whispered softly:
“Britomarte!”
Like a deer she sprang up, her hands extended, her whole face beaming with joy, as she exclaimed:
“Oh, Justin! I am so glad to see you! I have missed you so much! I wished to go and nurse you, but the doctor would not allow it. How is your wound? And oh! why did you conceal it from me?”
“Dear Britomarte, I did not wish to distress you with groundless anxieties. My injury was slight. I am nearly well now; and I am more than repaid for my short confinement by the welcome you give me. But yourself? I hear that you have been a sister of mercy among the wounded. How have you borne the trial?” he inquired, looking down upon her with infinite tenderness and solicitude.
“I have borne everything well, except your wound and your concealment of it from me. Oh, Justin!”
“Well, well, dear sister, I am all right now—quite right,” he answered, smiling.
But even as he spoke she saw his lips grow white, and a film pass over his eyes, but she governed her alarm, and said gently:
“Justin, you must lie down—there on the sofa; hush! you must not speak. I will help you there, and I will get a book and sit down by you and read to you, but if you attempt to talk I will leave you.”
“Well, I submit myself to you, my gentle nurse,” said Justin, willingly enough obeying her mandate, for he felt that he was not strong enough to sit up, or self-denying enough to leave Britomarte’s company.
So she led him to the sofa and eased him gently down upon it, and arranged the cushions under his head and chest.
Then she drew a chair to his side, and sat down to read to him. Her right hand held the book on her lap, her left hand lay softly on his forehead. She read purposely in a low, monotonous tone.
Presently, as if her touch and tone were mesmeric, his eyes grew heavy, then closed. She shut her book, and continued to watch him until gradually her head drooped lower and lower, until her forehead rested on the arm of the sofa, and her beautiful, heavy, dark hair, slipping from its fastening, fell down and mingled with the auburn curls that shaded his pale forehead.
Both were asleep.
Judith came in and found them so. She stood contemplating them a few minutes, and then her Irish enthusiasm burst forth.
“Och, sure, what a beautiful picter entirely. It’s like the babes in the woods, so it is, or Adam and Ave in the garden iv Aden, before the sarpint entered it. Sure it’s made for aich other they are, the darlints. Troth meself wonders the chaplain did not marry thim out iv hand, the jewels. Faix it’s a pair iv slaping beauties they are, the angels. And meself will sit down and guard thim.”
And Judith drew a chair up to the sofa, and set herself squarely before them, losing all consciousness of her own pains, injuries and misadventures, in the satisfaction with which she contemplated this picture of beauty and repose.