ning who it was that required his services, he
quitted the man who was under his hands. "No," said Nelson, refusing
his proffered assistance, "no; I will take my turn with my brave
fellows." Accordingly, there he remained, persistently refusing aid,
until every man who had been previously wounded had been attended to!
When his turn came, it was found that his wound was merely superficial
and heartfelt was the joy expressed by the wounded men and the crew of
the _Vanguard_ when this was made known.

But before this had been ascertained, and while he believed himself to
be dying, Nelson called the chaplain, and gave him his last remembrance
to Lady Nelson, appointed a successor to Captain Berry, who was to go to
England with the news of the victory, and made other arrangements in
anticipation of his death. But his hour had not yet come. When the
surgeon pronounced his hurt to be superficial, he refused to take the
rest which was recommended, and at once sent for his secretary to write
despatches.

While he was thus engaged, a cry was heard which rose above the din of
battle, proclaiming that the _L'Orient_ was on fire. In the confusion
that followed, Nelson found his way upon deck unassisted, and, to the
astonishment of every one, appeared on the quarter-deck, and gave orders
to lower the boats, and send relief to the enemy.

But before describing the scene that followed, we shall turn aside for a
little to watch more closely the proceedings of Captain Westcott in the
_Majestic_, and the personal deeds of Bill Bowls and his messmates.

CHAPTER SEVEN.

BATTLE OF THE NILE--CONTINUED.

The _Majestic_ was one of the four ships which sailed into action in the
wake of the Admiral. Our hero, Bill Bowls, and his friend Ben Bolter,
were stationed at one of the guns on the larboard side of the main deck.
Flinders stood near them. Everything was prepared for action. The
guns were loaded, the men, stripped to the waist, stood ready, and the
matches were lighted, but as yet no order had been given to fire. The
men on the larboard side of the ship stood gazing anxiously through the
portholes at the furious strife in which they were about to engage.

"Ah, then! but it's hot work is goin' on," said Flinders, turning to Ben
Bolter just after a crash of artillery somewhat louder than usual.

"It's hotter work ye'll see soon, when the Admiral gits into action,"
said Ben.

"True for ye," answered Flinders; "he's a brot