w moments they were pulling
cautiously amid the debris of the wreck, helping to haul on board such
poor fellows as they could get hold of. The work was difficult, because
comparative darkness followed the explosion, and as the fight was soon
resumed, the thunder of heavy guns, together with the plunging of ball,
exploding of shell, and whizzing of chain-shot overhead, rendered the
service one of danger as well as difficulty.

It was observed by the men of the _Majestic's_ boat that several French
boats were moving about on the same errand of mercy with themselves, and
it was a strange as well as interesting sight to see those who, a few
minutes before, had been bent on taking each other's lives, now as
earnestly engaged in the work of saving life!

"Back your starboard oars," shouted Ben, just as they passed one of the
French boats; "there's a man swimming on the port bow--that's it;
steady; lend a hand, Bill; now then, in with him."

A man was hoisted over the gunwale as he spoke, and the boat passed
onward. Just then a round shot from one of the more distant ships of
the fleet--whether English or French they could not tell--struck the
water a few yards from them, sending a column of spray high into the
air. Instead of sinking, the shot ricochetted from the water and
carried away the bow of the boat in passing, whirling it round and
almost overturning it. At the same moment the sea rushed in and swamped
it, leaving the crew in the water.

Our hero made an involuntary grasp at the thing that happened to be
nearest him. This was the head of his friend Ben Bolter, who had been
seated on the thwart in front of him. Ben returned the grasp promptly,
and having somehow in the confusion of the plunge, taken it into his
head that he was in the grasp of a Frenchman, he endeavoured to throttle
Bill. Bill, not being easily throttled, forthwith proceeded to choke
Ben, and a struggle ensued which might have ended fatally for both, had
not a piece of wreck fortunately touched Ben on the shoulder. He seized
hold of it, Bill did the same, and then they set about the fight with
more precision.

"Come on, ye puddock-eater!" cried Ben, again seizing Bill by the
throat.

"Hallo, Ben!"

"Why, wot--is't you, Bill? Well, now, if I didn't take 'e for a
Mounseer!"

Before more could be said a boat was observed rowing close past them.
Ben hailed it.

"Ho!" cried a voice, as the men rested on their oars and listened.

"Lend