still remained alive. His canoe swept with a bound to the shore; but before its prow grated upon it he was on the land. His first inquiry of Maury was, "How many men have you lost?" "Five," replied Maury. "I know," responded Strain, "of four, who is the other?" "Lombard" said Maury." By this time Truxton had staggered up, and, flinging his arms around Strain, exclaimed, "Oh, Strain, did I do right to turn back?" Joy at his sudden release from the terrible death that awaited him, relief from suffering and suspense, were forgotten in the single question of duty. "Did I do right?" was the only thought, the only question. How that involuntary exclamation honors him—exalts him above all eulogy! Duty had governed him from first to last; duty occupied him even in the extreme suffering of starvation. So long as we can have such officers to command our ships, our navy will retain her old renown, and whether flying or struck, our flag will still be covered with glory.
One of the men, named McGinness, threw his arms around Strain, and bursting into tears, exclaimed, "Oh, Captain! poor Boggs is breaking his heart to see you." As Bennett, the noble Irishman, jumped ashore, and saw the hideous spectacle of scarred and almost naked skeletons, he seized each one by the hand, while the tears poured like rain down his cheeks. The Scotch surgeon gazed around him a moment, apparently bewildered, then leaping back into the boat seized a bottle of port wine under each arm, and hastening from the one to the other, said, "Take a little of this, my poor fellow; take a little of this!"
But this spectacle was nothing to that which awaited them at the camp. Several of the poor men there had heard the shouts of deliverance, but the joyful intelligence could not impart strength to their wasted frames. There they lay—lacerated, ulcerated frames of men half-covered with rags. Each turned his eye as his commander approached, but none could get up. Strain first came upon Vermilyea, stretched on his back and emaciated to such a dreadful degree that he did not know him. The latter, however, said, in a feeble voice, "How do you do, Captain? We are glad to see you back again. We were afraid you were lost." Strain, with a breaking heart, gazed on him a moment, when the poor man asked, "Won't you shake hands with me, Captain?" "Yes," replied the former. "I beg pardon, Captain, but I can't get up." Strain then kneeled down beside him and tried to cheer him, saying he had brought along provisions, a doctor, and every thing needed, and he hoped to see him on his feet again soon. "I am afraid, Captain" he faintly replied, "I shall never march any more." Alas! it proved too true. As Strain rose to his feet he saw a figure sitting a little way off on the ground doubled up against his knees, his pantaloons off up to his thighs, while a part of a shirt, and a palm-leaf hat with but half a rim completed his costume. He was ghastly and frightful to look upon. As he caught Strain's eye he touched the fragment of his hat-brim, and endeavored to smile. The contor-
THE RESCUE.
