sly, and very soon knocked off, declaring that they could
work no more. The British seamen had therefore to work away until they
could stand no longer.

Lieutenant Jager, commanding the prize, had sent Lord Reginald and
Voules to see that the crew at the pumps were persevering in their
labours. Among them his eye fell on Ben Rudall and Richard Hargrave,
who had both been working away for some time until their arms ached.

"Spell oh!" cried Ben.

"Spell oh!" echoed Dick, in order that some other men might come and
help them.

"Keep at your work, you idle rascals!" cried Lord Reginald.

"I am not an `idle rascal,'" answered Ben, leaving the pump and folding
his arms; "I have been working for two hours, and can work no longer
until I have had some rest."

Dick, who could really work no longer, and was wellnigh ready to drop to
the deck, also knocked off, though he said nothing.

Lord Reginald's anger was aroused in a moment. Seizing a rope, he
struck Dick across the shoulders. "Go back, both of you!" he exclaimed;
"we can have no skulking on board here."

"I am not skulking," answered Dick, again seizing the pump handle and
working away as hard as his strength would allow.

"Do you dare to answer me?" exclaimed the young lord, striking Dick.

Ben stood still, fixing his eye on the midshipman, who, though he
flourished the rope, did not strike him, and Ben, with a look which
showed the ill feelings aroused in his bosom, returned to the pump.

Lord Reginald stood by, watching them until the whole gang, utterly
unable to work longer, were relieved by fresh hands.

"Let me see that you fellows keep at it longer and better than the last
have done," he said.

"That's what we get for working our lives out," growled Ben, as he and
his shipmates staggered forward and threw themselves down to rest.
"It's just as well he did not strike me, or something might have come of
it. If I were you, Dick, I wouldn't stand it; I'd give him as good in
return. He can but hang one, and that would be better than leading a
dog's life on board this ship."

"He might flog you round the fleet, which would be something worse than
hanging," observed an old man-of-war's man, who had overheard Ben. "You
wouldn't like that. I've a notion, mate, that it's wiser to grin and
bear it, and hope for better times."

"I do hope for better times," said Ben, addressing Dick, when no one
else was within hearing. "I'll tell you what, lad; I'd