that had been
done. He felt that he had certainly saved the captain's life, and had
in all probability prevented the ship from being blown up. Yet he would
not be his own trumpeter, and he thought that very likely no one had
observed what he had done, and that it would be entirely overlooked.
"Well, I should not care so much for myself," he thought, "but dear
mother--how she would rejoice to hear that I had made my own way up to
the quarter-deck. It can't be helped, I must wait for another
opportunity."

The fate Paul dreaded has been that of many who have struggled on year
after year in the hopes of winning fame, and have after all missed the
object at which they aimed.

It was reported that the captain was suffering severely from his wounds,
and for some days he did not appear on deck. Devereux, however, had not
forgotten Paul, and took the first occasion to tell him that he would
mention him to the captain as having preserved the ship and all their
lives from destruction. Paul, on this, felt very much inclined to say
that he had been the means also of preserving the captain's life. "No,
I won't, though," he thought; "the captain will make inquiries as to
what happened when he was struck down, and the men who saw me defending
him will surely tell him the truth."

He therefore simply thanked Devereux for his kind intentions.

"You know, sir, that what I did was to save my own life as well as that
of others," he added.

"Very true, but still I think that the captain will consider your
conduct worthy of reward," answered Devereux.

To Reuben, Paul was more communicative.

"But do you know which were the men who came when you called for help?"
asked the former.

Paul could not be positive as to one of them, on account of the darkness
and confusion.

"Then I must find out, my lad, and make all things square," muttered
Reuben, as he walked away.

The victors had plenty of hard work in putting the prize to rights, in
manning her and their own ship, and in looking after the prisoners.
However, not long after they had lost sight of land, a sail hove in
sight. Chase was made, and the stranger proved to be a Spanish
schooner. She quickly hauled down her colours, and a boat was sent to
bring her captain on board. The Don stood, hat in hand, trembling in
every joint, at the gangway, his long sallow face drawn down to twice
its usual length, expecting to be carried off a prisoner, and to have
his vessel destr