of setting out again in the galley, I made this an excuse
for leaving; and for the first time did I quit Greenwich without regret.

CHAPTER FORTY-ONE

In which it is proved that Sailors have very correct Ideas as to
Metempsychosis.

The day after my return to Deal I again embarked with Bramble and three
others, to follow up our vocation. The second day we were abreast of the
Ram Head, when the men in another pilot boat, which had come out of
Plymouth and was close to us, waved their hats and kept away to speak to
us. We hove-to for them.

"Have you heard the news?" cried one of the men.

"No."

"Lord Nelson has beat the French and Spanish fleet."

"Glad to hear it--huzza!"

"Lord Nelson's killed."

"Lord Nelson's killed!" The intelligence was repeated from mouth to
mouth, and then every voice was hushed; the other boat hauled her wind
without further communication, nor did we at the time think of asking
for any more. The shock which was given to the whole country was equally
felt by those who were seeking their bread in a small boat, and for some
little while we steered our course in silence.

"What d'ye say, my lads?" said Bramble, who first broke silence; "shall
we haul up for Cawsand, and get a paper? I shan't be content till I know
the whole history."

This was consented to unanimously; no one thought of piloting vessels
for the moment and earning food for their families. When the country
awarded a public funeral to our naval hero, it did not pay him a more
sincere tribute than was done in this instance by five pilots in a
galley. At Cawsand we obtained the newspaper, and after a few pots of
beer we again made sail for the mouth of the Channel. It hardly need be
observed that the account of this winding-up, as it proved, of our naval
triumphs, with the death of Nelson, was the subject of conversation for
more than one day. On the third we were all separated, having fallen in
with many windbound vessels who required our services. The one I took
charge of was a West Indiaman, deeply laden with rum and sugar, one of a
convoy which were beating about in the Chops of the Channel. As we were
standing out from the English coast the captain and one of the
passengers were at the taffrail close to me.

"What do you think of the weather, pilot?" said the captain.

"I think we shall have a change of wind, and dirty weather before twelve
hours are over our heads," replied I.

"Well," said he,