United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Juvenile fiction
"The surgeon thinks you had better not talk any more, Captain Rombold,"
interposed the commander. "Here are the men, and we will handle you as
tenderly as an infant."
"You are as kind as the mother of the infant," added the sufferer with a
slight smile; but he made no further opposition.
The four men lifted the chair, and the doctor instructed them how to
carry it. The Bellevite had been moved aft a little so as to bring the
gangways of the two ships abreast of each other. The commander was so
interested and so full of sympathy for his injured enemy, now a friend,
that he could not refrain from assisting with his own hands, and he
directed the operations of the seamen when they came to the steps. They
lifted the chair down to the deck of the ship, and then it was borne to
the captain's cabin.
The wounded commander was placed in the broad berth of the cabin, and
the seamen sent on deck. Dr. Linscott, with the assistance of his mate,
proceeded to remove the clothing of the patient, Captain Breaker aiding
as he would hardly have thought of doing if the sufferer had been one of
his own officers. The injury proved to be of about the same character as
that of Christy; it was a flesh wound, but the ball had ploughed deeper
than in his case, and was therefore severe. A stimulating remedy was
given to the patient, and the doctor dressed the wound with the utmost
care, as he always did, whether the patient was a commander or a
coal-heaver from the bunkers.
The sufferer had revived somewhat under the influence of the medicine
administered; and after taking the hand of Captain Rombold, with a
hearty wish for his early recovery, the captain of the Bellevite took
his leave, and went on deck.
He proceeded first to the chair of the wounded lieutenant, reporting to
him the condition of the Confederate commander. Christy was extremely
glad to hear so favorable a report of the condition of the patient, and
so expressed himself in the heartiest terms. "Federal" and "Confederate"
seemed to be words without any meaning at the present time, for all had
become friends. The officers were vying with each other in rendering
kindly offices to the vanquished, and even the seamen were doing what
they could to fraternize with the crew of the Tallahatchie, while both
were engaged in removing the evidences of the hard-fought action.
It was now only nine o'clock in the morning, and six hours had elapsed
since the prize, with the West Wind in tow, had sailed from Mobile
Point on what had proved to be her last voyage in the service of the
Confederacy. Events had succeeded each other with great rapidity, as it
may require a whole volume to report in detail a naval battle begun and
ended in the short space of an hour.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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