The air no more was vital now,
  But did a mortal poison grow. 
  The lungs, which used to fan the heart,
  Served only now to fire each part;
  What should refresh, increased the smart. 
  And now their very breath,
  The chiefest sign of life, became the cause of death! 
  SPRAT, BISHOP OF ROCHESTER.

The Aspasia did not drop her anchor in Carlisle Bay until three weeks after the arrival of the frigate which brought up Courtenay and the prize crew; but she had not been idle, having three valuable prizes, which she had captured in company.  Courtenay immediately repaired on board of his ship, to report to Captain M –­ the circumstances which had occurred connected with the loss of his five men.  He was too honourable to attempt to disguise or palliate the facts:  on the contrary, he laid all the blame upon himself; and enhanced the merits of the two midshipmen.  Captain M –­, who admired his ingenuous confession, contented himself with observing that he trusted it would be a caution to him during his future career in the service.  To Seymour and Jerry he said nothing, as he was afraid that the latter would presume upon commendation; but he treasured up their conduct in his memory, and determined to lose no opportunity that might offer to reward them.  Courtenay descended to the gun-room, where he was warmly greeted by his messmates, who crowded round him to listen to his detail of the attempt to recapture.

“Well,” observed Price, “it appears we have had a narrow chance of losing a messmate.”

“Narrow chance lose two, sar,” replied Billy Pitts; “you forgit, sar, I on board schooner!”

“Oh, Billy, are you there?  How does the dictionary come on?”

“Come on well, sar; I make a corundum on Massa Doctor, when on board schooner.”

“Made a what? ­a corundum!  What can that be?”

“It ought to be something devilish hard,” observed Courtenay.

“Yes, sar, debblish hard find out.  Now, sar, ­Why Massa Macallan like a general?”

“I’m sure I can’t tell.  We give it up, Billy.”

“Then, sar, I tell you.  Because he ’feelossifer.”

“Bravo, Billy! ­Why, you’ll write a book soon.  By the bye, Macallan, I must not forget to thank you for the loan of that gentleman:  he has made himself very useful, and behaved very well.”

“Really, Massa Courtenay, I tought I not give you satisfaction.”

“Why so, Billy?”

“Because, sar, you never give me present ­not one dollar.”

“He has you there,” said Price; “you must fork out.”

“Not a rap ­the nigger had perquisites.  I saw the English merchants give him a handful of dollars, before they left the vessel.”

“Ah! they real gentlemen, Massa Capon and Massa –­ dam um name ­I forgot.”

“And what am I, then, you black thief?”

“Oh! you, sar, you very fine officer,” replied Billy, quitting the gun-room.

Courtenay did not exactly like the answer ­but there was nothing to lay hold of.  As usual, when displeased, he referred to his snuff-box, muttering something, in which the word “annoying” could only be distinguished.

The breeze from the windsail blew some of the snuff out of the box into the eyes of Macallan.

“I wish to Heaven you would be more careful, Courtenay,” cried the surgeon, in an angry tone, and stamping with the pain.

“I really beg your pardon,” replied Courtenay, “snuffing’s a vile habit, ­I wish I could leave it off.”

“So do your messmates,” replied the surgeon:  “I cannot imagine what pleasure there can be in a practice in itself so nasty, independent of the destruction of the olfactory powers.”

“It’s exactly for that reason that I take snuff; I am convinced that I am a gainer by the loss of the power of smell.”

“I consider it ungrateful, if not wicked, to say so,” replied the surgeon, gravely.  “The senses were given to us as a source of enjoyment.”

“True, doctor,” answered Courtenay, mimicking the language of Macallan; “and if I were a savage in the woods, there could not be a sense more valuable, or affording so much gratification, as the one in question.  I should rise with the sun, and inhale the fragrance of the shrubs and flowers, offered up in grateful incense to their Creator, and I should stretch myself under the branches of the forest tree, as evening closed, and enjoy the faint perfume with which they wooed the descending moisture after exhaustion from the solar heat.  But in civilised society, where men and things are packed too closely together, the case is widely different:  for one pleasant, you encounter twenty offensive smells; and of all the localities for villainous compounds, a ship is indubitably the worst.  I therefore patronise `’baccy,’ which, I presume, was intended for our use, or it would not have been created.”

“But not for our abuse.”

“Ah! there’s the rock that we all split upon ­and I, with others, must plead guilty.  The greatest difficulty in this world is, to know when and where to stop.  Even a philosopher like yourself cannot do it.  You allow your hypothesis to whirl in your brain, until it forms a vortex which swallows up everything that comes within its influence.  A modern philosopher, with his hypothesis, is like a man possessed with a devil in times of yore; and it is not to be cast out by any human means, that I know of.”

“As you please,” replied Macallan, laughing; “I only deprecated a bad habit.”

“An hypothesis is only a habit, ­a habit of looking through a glass of one peculiar colour, which imparts its hue to all around it.  We are but creatures of habit.  Luxury is nothing more than contracting fresh habits, and having the means of administering to them ­ergo, doctor, the more habits you have to gratify, the more luxuries you possess.  You luxuriate in the contemplation of nature ­Price in quoting, or trying to quote, Shakespeare ­Billy Pitts in his dictionary ­I in my snuff-box; and surely we may all continue to enjoy our harmless propensities, without interfering with each other:  although I must say, that those still-born quotations of our messmate Price are most tryingly annoying.”

“And so is a pinch of snuff in the eye, I can assure you,” replied Macallan.

“Granted; but we must `give and take,’ doctor.”

“In the present case, I don’t care how much you take, provided you don’t give,” rejoined Macallan, recovering his good humour.

A messenger from Captain M –­, who desired to speak with Macallan, put an end to the conversation.

“Mr Macallan,” said Captain M –­, when the surgeon came into the cabin to receive his commands, “I am sorry to find, from letters which I have received, that the yellow fever is raging in the other islands in a most alarming manner, and that it has been communicated to the squadron on the station.  I am sorry to add, that I have received a letter from the governor here, informing me that it has made its appearance at the barracks.  I am afraid that we have little chance of escaping so general a visitation.  As it is impossible to put to sea, even if my orders were not decisive to the contrary, are there not some precautions which ought to be taken?”

“Certainly, sir.  It will be prudent to fumigate the lower deck; it has already been so well ventilated and whitewashed, that nothing else can be done; we must hope for the best.”

“I do so,” replied Captain M –­; “but my hope is mingled with anxious apprehensions, which I cannot control.  We must do all we can, and leave the rest to Providence.”

The fears of Captain M –­ were but too well grounded.  For some days, no symptoms of infection appeared on board of the Aspasia; but the ravages on shore, among the troops, were to such an extent, that the hospitals were filled, and those who were carried in might truly be said to have left hope behind.  Rapid as was the mortality, it was still not rapid enough for the admittance of those who were attacked with the fatal disease; and as the bodies of fifteen or twenty were, each succeeding evening, borne unto the grave, the continual decrease of the military cortege which attended the last obsequies, told the sad tale, that those who, but a day or two before, had followed the corpses of others, were now carried on their own biers.

Other vessels on the station, which had put to sea from the different isles, with the disappointed expectation of avoiding the contagion, now came to an anchor in the bay, their crews so weakened by disease and death that they could with difficulty send up sufficient men to furl their sails.  Boat after boat was sent on shore to the naval hospital, loaded with sufferers, until it became so crowded that no more could be received.  Still the Aspasia, from the precautions which had been taken, in fumigating, and avoiding all unnecessary contact with the shipping and the shore, had for nearly a fortnight escaped the infection; but the miasma was at last wafted to the frigate, and in the course of one night fifteen men, who were in health the preceding evening, before eight o’clock on the following morning were lying in their hammocks under the half-deck.  Before the close of that day, the number of patients had increased to upwards of forty.  The hospitals were so crowded that Captain M –­ agreed with Macallan that it would be better that the men should remain on board.

The frigate was anchored with springs on her cable, so as always to be able to warp her stern to the breeze; the cabin bulk-heads on the main-deck, and the thwart-ship bulk-heads below, were removed, and the stern windows and ports thrown open, to admit a freer circulation of air than could have been obtained by riding with her head to the sullen breeze, which hardly deigned to fan the scorching cheeks of the numerous and exhausted patients.  The numbers on the list daily increased, until every part of the ship was occupied with their hammocks, and the surgeon and his assistants had scarcely time to relieve one by excessive bleeding, and consign him to his hammock, before another, staggering and fainting under the rapid disease, presented himself, with his arm bared, ready for the lancet.  More blood was thrown into the stagnant water of the bay than would have sufficed to render ever verdant the laurels of many a well-fought action (for our laurels flourish not from the dew of Heaven, but must be watered with a sanguine stream) and, alas! too soon, more bodies were consigned to the deep than would have been demanded from the frigate in the warmest proof of courage and perseverance in her country’s cause.

It is a scene like this which appals the sailor’s heart.  It is not the range of hammocks on the main-deck, tenanted by pale forms, with their bandages steeped in gore; for such is the chance of war, and the blood has flowed from hearts boiling with ardour and devotion.  If not past cure, the smiles and congratulations of their shipmates alleviate the anguish and fever of the wound:  if past all medical relief; still the passage from this transitory world is soothed by the affectionate sympathy of their messmates, by the promise to execute their last wishes, by the knowledge that it was in their country’s defence they nobly fell.  ’Tis not the chance of wreck, or of being consigned, unshrouded, to the dark wave, by the treacherous leak, or overwhelming fury of the storm.  ’Tis not the “thought-executing fire.”  Every and all of these they are prepared and are resigned to meet, as ills to which their devious track is heir.  But when disease, in its most loathsome form and implacable nature, makes its appearance ­when we contemplate, in perspective, our own fate in the unfortunate who is selected, like the struggling sheep, dragged from the hurdled crowd, to be pierced by the knife of the butcher ­when the horror of infection becomes so strong that we hold aloof from administering the kind offices of relief to our dearest friends; and, eventually prostrated ourselves, find the same regard for self pervades the rest, and that there is no voluntary attendance ­then the sight of the expiring wretch, in his last effort, turning his head over the side of his hammock, and throwing off the dreadful black vomit, harbinger of his doom ­’tis horrible! too horrible!

And the anxiety which we would in vain suppress ­the reckless laugh of some, raised but to conceal their fear from human penetration ­the intoxicating draught, poured down by others to dull the excited senses ­ the follies of years reviewed in one short minute ­our life, how spent ­ how much to answer for! ­a world how overvalued ­a God how much neglected! ­the feeling that we ought to pray, the inclination that propels us to do so, checked by the mistaken yet indomitable pride which puts the question to our manhood, “Will ye pray in fear, when ye neglected it in fancied security?” Down, stubborn knees!  Pride is but folly towards men ­insanity towards God!

But why dwell upon such a scene?  Let it suffice to state, that seventy of the Aspasia’s men fell victims to the baneful climate, and that many more, who did recover, were left in such a state of exhaustion, as to require their immediate return to their native shores.  Except O’Keefe, the purser, all the officers whom I have introduced to the reader escaped.  Three, from the midshipmen’s berth, who had served their time, and who for many months had been drinking the toast of “A bloody war and sickly season,” fell a sacrifice to their own thoughtless and selfish desire; and the clerk, who anticipated promotion when he heard that the purser was attacked, died before him.

When all was over, Jerry observed to Prose, “Well, Prose, `it’s an ill wind that blows nobody any good.’  We have had not one single thrashing during the sickness; but I suppose, now that their courage is returned, we must prepare for both principal and interest.”

“Well now, Jerry, I do declare that’s very likely, but I never thought of it before.”

The large convoys of merchantmen that came out supplied the men that were required to man the disabled ships; and transports brought out cargoes from the depots to fill up the skeleton ranks of the different companies.  Among the various blessings left us in this life of suffering is forgetfulness of past evils; and the yellow fever was in a short time no longer the theme of dread, or even of conversation.

“Well, Tom, what sort of a place is this here West Hinges?” inquired a soldier who had been just landed from a transport, of an old acquaintance in the regiment, whom he encountered.

“Capital place, Bill,” returned the other to his interrogation; “plenty to drink, and always a-dry.”

But as I do not wish to swell my narrative, and have no doubt but the reader will be glad to leave this pestilential climate, I shall inform him, that for three years the Aspasia continued on the station, daily encountering the usual risks of battle, fire, and wreck; and that at the end of that period the health of Captain M –­ was so much injured, by the climate and his own exertions, that he requested permission to quit the station.