I was the mate of the watch, and, as day dawned, I had amused myself with
other younkers over the side, examining the shot holes and other injuries
sustained from the fire of the frigate, and contrasting the clean, sharp,
well--defined apertures, made by the 24--pound shot from the long guns,
with the bruised and splintered ones from the 32--pound carronades; but the
men had begun to wash down the decks, and the first gush of clotted blood
an water from the scuppers fairly turned me sick. I turned away, when Mr
Kennedy, our gunner, a good steady old Scotchman, with whom I was a bit of
a favourite, came up to me--"Mr Cringle, the Captain has sent for you; poor
Mr Johnstone is fast going, he wants to see you."
I knew my young messmate had been wounded, for I had seen him carried below
after the frigate's second broadside; but the excitement of a boy, who had
seldom smelled powder fired in anger before, had kept me on deck the whole
night, and it never once occurred to me to ask for him, until the old
gunner spoke.
I hastened down to our small confined berth, where I saw a sight that
quickly brought me to myself. Poor Johnstone was indeed going; a grapeshot
had struck him, and torn his belly open. There he lay in his bloody
hammock on the deck, pale and motionless as if he had already departed,
except a slight twitching at the corners of his mouth, and a convulsive
contraction and distension of his nostrils.
Pages:
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128