nson, who had overheard
us. "Keep up your spirits; young flesh and sinews soon grow together,
and there are no bones broken in either of you, I hope."

We all got at length safely on board, when the wounded were without
delay carried below, and placed under the surgeon's care. He repeated
the boatswain's advice to Grey and me, and told us that if we followed
it we should soon be well. Two or three of the poor fellows brought on
board alive, died of their wounds that night. We heard that Captain
Collyer and Commander Ceaton were very much cut up at the failure of the
expedition, and the loss of so many officers and men. I was especially
sorry for McAllister's death. Though eccentric in some of his notions,
he was every inch an officer and a gentleman.

We at once made sail, I understood, from the fatal spot, but the general
wish was that we might fall in with the schooner elsewhere, or return
and take her.

Before many days had passed, I received a visit from my cousin. Sorrow
had worked a sad change in him, and I felt grieved as I looked up at his
countenance, at the bad report I should have to give of him to poor
Bertha.

It was fortunate for Grey and me that we kept at sea, for the weather
was tolerably cool, and our hurts rapidly healed.

The Doris had now been nearly four years in commission, so that we
expected, as soon as the cruise was up, to be sent home. We had all had
enough of the West Indies, and we looked forward with eager satisfaction
to the time when the white cliffs of Old England should once more greet
our eyes. One sorrow only broke in on our anticipations of pleasure.
It was when we thought of our gallant shipmates who had been cut off,
who had hoped, as we were doing, once more to be united to those they
loved so dearly at home. I should have been more sorry for Perigal than
for anybody else, had he been killed, but happily neither bullet nor
fever seemed to hurt him, and I hoped that he might once more be united
to his wife. I thought, too, of poor McAllister's Mary, and of the sad
news I should have to convey to her. However, I cannot say that I
indulged in these, or other mournful reflections, for any length of
time. I was more thoughtful than I had been when I came to sea four
years ago, but that was only at times when some occurrences made me
think. Generally I spoke of myself as Merry by name and merry by
nature, and was, I fear, still but a harum-scarum fellow after all.