countenance; but seeing Gregson again raising his hand to dispatch the young officer, he again interposed, and desired the mate to spare him,—an order which the seaman reluctantly obeyed. Ethelston now entreated L’Estrange to give up his sword, and to save further bloodshed; and the young man, seeing that his followers were mostly overpowered and wounded, presented it with a countenance in which grief and shame were blended with indignation. “Stay,” said Ethelston; “before I receive your sword, the conditions on which I receive it are, that you give your parole, that neither you nor any one of your men shall bear arms against the United States during the continuance of this war, whether you and I are recaptured or not; and the launch becomes my prize.” To these terms the youth assented, and ordered such of his men as were not quite disabled, to lay down their arms. In a few minutes, all who were unhurt were busily engaged in tending the dying and wounded. Fortunately an assistant–surgeon, who had volunteered on this service from the frigate, was among those unhurt, and he set about his professional duties with as much alacrity as if he had been in the ward of an hospital. Cupid retreated quietly to his caboose, and Ethelston continued giving his orders with the same clearness and decision that had marked his whole conduct. Young L’Estrange looked over the brig’s low sides into the water: his heart was too full for utterance; and his captor, with considerate kindness, abstained from addressing him. The surgeon, observing that the blood still flowed from the wound on Ethelston’s forehead, and that his left arm hung at his side, now came and offered his services. Thanking him courteously, he replied, smiling, “I took my chance of wounds on equal terms with those brave fellows, and I will take my chance of cure on equal terms also; when you have attended to all those who are more seriously hurt, I shall be happy to avail myself of your skill.” The surgeon bowed and withdrew. An audible groan burst from the unhappy L’Estrange; but still he spoke not; and Ethelston held a brief consultation with his mate and the carpenter, the result of which was, an order given to the former, in a low tone of voice, “to prepare immediately, and to send Cupid to him in the cabin.” As he was going down, L’Estrange came to him, and asked him, confusedly, and with an averted countenance, if he might speak to him alone for a minute. Ethelston begged him to follow him into his cabin, when, having shut the door, he said, “Mr. L’Estrange, we are alone, pray speak; is there any thing in which I can serve you?”