Chapter 34

"Whither, 'midst falling dew,
While glow the heavens with the last steps of day,
Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue
Thy solitary way?"
_Bryant._

When the young seaman who now commanded the frigate descended from the
quarter-deck in compliance with the of ten-repeated summons, he found
the vessel restored to the same neatness as if nothing had occurred to
disturb its order. The gun-deck had been cleansed of its horrid stains,
and the smoke of the fight had long since ascended through the hatches
and mingled with the clouds that flitted above the ship. As he walked
along the silent batteries, even the urgency of his visit could not
prevent him from glancing his eyes towards the splintered sides, those
terrible vestiges, by which the paths of the shot of their enemy might
be traced; and by the time he tapped lightly at the door of the cabin,
his quick look had embraced every material injury the vessel had
sustained in her principal points of defence. The door was opened by the
surgeon of the frigate, who, as he stepped aside to permit Griffith to
enter, shook his head with that air of meaning, which, in one of his
profession, is understood to imply the abandonment of all hopes, and
then immediately quitted the apartment, in order to attend to those who
might profit by his services.

The reader is not to imagine that Griffith had lost sight of Cecilia and
her cousin during the occurrences of that eventful day: on the contrary,
his troubled fancy had presented her terror and distress, even in the
hottest moments of the fight; and the instant that the crew were called
from their guns he had issued an order to replace the bulkheads of the
cabin, and to arrange its furniture for their accommodation, though the
higher and imperious duties of his station had precluded his attending
to their comfort in person. He expected, therefore, to find the order of
the rooms restored; but he was by no means prepared to encounter the
scene he was now to witness.

Between two of the sullen cannon, which gave such an air of singular
wildness to the real comfort of the cabin, was placed a large couch, on
which the colonel was lying, evidently near his end. Cecilia was weeping
by his side, her dark ringlets falling in unheeded confusion around her
pale features, and sweeping in their rich exuberance the deck on which
she kneeled. Katherine leaned tenderly over the form of the dying
veteran, while her dark, tearful eyes seemed to express self-accusation
blended with deep commiseration. A few attendants of both sexes
surrounded the solemn scene, all of whom appeared to be under the
influence of the hopeless intelligence which the medical officer had but
that moment communicated. The