the
poor lad, and endeavouring to soothe him. Home scenes and incidents of
school-days seemed to be uppermost in his mind at the moment that I
entered, but soon afterwards his thoughts wandered away to the night of
the attack.

"I must go, I _must_ go," he exclaimed in anxious tones; "if it be only
to prove whether I _am_ a coward or no. Chester spoke _very_ kindly to
me, but I believe he thinks I am afraid. It will be dreadful, I know--
the flashing cutlasses, the fierce thrust of pikes, and perhaps the fire
of grape and canister. And there will be gaping wounds, and blood--
blood everywhere; and oh! the suffering there will be; I have read of it
all--the burning, unquenchable thirst, the throbbing and quivering of
agonised limbs, and the upturned glance of unendurable torture. How can
I possibly bear to look upon it all? And perhaps _I_ may be one of the
wounded--or the slain. And if I am, what then? I do not care about
pain for myself, I can bear it; but it is the sufferings of others that
I dread to see. And if I am killed--why, I shall die doing my duty, and
I am not afraid of death; I have never done anything that I need be
ashamed of; I never did anything mean or dishonourable; I have always
tried to be kind to every one; and I have read the Bible regularly which
my poor dear mother gave me."

He paused a little. Then the tears welled slowly up into his eyes. "I
am dying--I know it, though none of them have said so. I wonder whether
my father will be sorry. He is a proud man and stern--very stern; I
cannot remember that he ever kissed me, and I have never been able to
tell whether he cares for me or no. But I believe he does--I _hope_ he
does; and at all events, he need not be ashamed of me, for I have proved
that I am no coward. My mother will grieve for me, though; it will
break her heart and--oh!"

Here a violent flood of tears came to the poor boy's relief, and he
sobbed as though his heart would break.

"Phew!" exclaimed the skipper. "This will _never_ do; he is too weak to
bear this, I am sure. Run for Oxley, and tell him to come at once,
Ralph; we must stop this at any cost."

I rushed out of the cabin, and returned in another minute with the
doctor.

The poor boy was still sobbing occasionally, but he was crying more
quietly now, and lying quite still in his hammock, instead of moving his
limbs restlessly about as he had been.

The doctor leaned over the cot, felt his pulse, and