-laden
air rang the shouts of those still serving the guns, mingled with the
groans of their comrades writhing in agony.

In the midst of it all was Terry. When the first shot struck the
bulwarks of the frigate, and smashing its way through slew three
stalwart sailors and badly wounded two others, he threw himself flat on
the deck behind the foremast, completely overcome with sheer horror and
fright. There he remained for some minutes, every boom of the cannon
sending fresh shudders through his boyish frame.

Presently, amid the occasional pauses in the thunder of the artillery,
a moaning cry reached his ear: "Water, water! for God's sake a drop of
water!" He had heard it several times before, even in his warm fresh
heart, the impulse to help began to tell upon the paralyzing panic that
had smitten him. But when, for the fourth time, the piteous wail
pierced its way to him, "Oh for water! Won't some one bring me water?"
he could lie still no longer.

Getting upon his hands and knees--for he did not dare rise to his full
height--he crept across the deck to where the sufferer lay. He found a
young sailor, not many years older than himself, dreadfully wounded by
a cannon-ball, and suffering agonies from thirst. He was half-hidden
by an overturned gun-carriage, and had been overlooked by the surgeon
in the wild confusion.

"Water! water!" he panted, looking at Terry with imploring eyes, for he
could not move a limb. "For the love of God, bring me some water!"

Terry knew well enough where the water-butts were, but to reach them
meant his running the gauntlet of shot and splinter, whose dreadful
effects lay all about him. Naturally he shrank from the risk, and
looked around in hopes of seeing some of the crew who might undertake
it.

But all who were not already _hors de combat_ had their hands full.
Whatever was to be done for the poor young fellow must be done by him.
The next wail for water decided him. Bending his head as though he
were facing a snowstorm, he darted across the deck to the water-butts.
Right at hand was a pannikin. Hastily filling it, he retraced his
steps, going more slowly now because of his burden, and had just got
half-way when a heavy ball smashed into the bulwarks at his left,
sending out a heavy shower of splinters, one of which struck the
pannikin from his hand, spilling its precious contents upon the deck.

It was a hair-breadth escape, and Terry dropped to the deck as though