wounded as he was, to reach a packet of the universal
medicine, and had taken so many bottles before he was found out, that he
was one morning found dead in his bed, with more than two dozen empty
phials under his pillow, and by the side of his mattress. He was not
buried with his hands in his pockets, but when sewed up in his hammock,
they were, at all events, laid in the right position.

CHAPTER THIRTY.

MODERN PHILANTHROPY WHICH, AS USUAL, IS THE CAUSE OF MUCH TROUBLE AND
VEXATION.

In three weeks the _Aurora_, with her prize in tow, arrived at Malta.
The wounded were sent to the hospital, and the gallant Russian captain
recovered from his wounds about the same time as Mr Hawkins, the
chaplain.

Jack, who constantly called to see the chaplain, had a great deal to do
to console him. He would shake his hands as he lay in his bed,
exclaiming against himself. "Oh," Would he say, "the spirit is willing,
but the flesh is weak. That I, a man of God, as they term me, who ought
to have been down with the surgeons, whispering comfort to the
desponding, should have gone on deck (but I could not help it), and have
mixed in such a scene of slaughter! What will become of me?"

Jack attempted to console him by pointing out that not only chaplains
but bishops have been known to fight in armour from time immemorial.
But Mr Hawkins's recovery was long doubtful, from the agitation of his
mind. When he was able to walk, Jack introduced to him the Russian
captain, who was also just out of his bed.

"I am most happy to embrace so gallant an officer," said the Russian,
who recognised his antagonist, throwing his arms round the chaplain, and
giving him a kiss on both cheeks. "What is his rank?" continued he,
addressing himself to Jack, who replied, very quietly, "that he was the
ship's padre."

"The padre!" replied the captain, with surprise, as Hawkins turned away
with confusion. "The padre--par exemple! Well, I always had a great
respect for the church. Pray sir," said he, turning to Easy, "do your
padres always head your boarders?"

"Always, sir," replied Jack; "it's a rule of the service--and the duty
of a padre to show the men the way to heaven. It's our ninety-ninth
article of war."

"You are a fighting nation," replied the Russian, bowing to Hawkins, and
continuing his walk, not exactly pleased that he had been floored by a
parson.

Mr Hawkins continued very disconsolate for some time; he then invalided
a