ian, and, depend upon it, it unnerved them--"

"`Approach thou like,'--what is it?" resumed Price, "something--`Hence,
horrible shadow, unreal mockery, hence!'"

"Pretty names to be called in reward of my services," cried Jerry. "I
presume this is a specimen of the gratitude you were talking about.
Well, after all, to take a leaf out of your book, Mr Price, I consider
that the better part of valour is discretion. Now, that fellow,
Stewart, he actually gave them his head to play with, and I am not sorry
that he has had it broken--for I calculate that I shall be saved at
least a dozen thrashings by some of his hot blood being let out--`the
King's poor cousin!'"

"By the bye, I quite forgot--where's Robinson, the coxswain of the
cutter?" demanded Courtenay.

"Between the guns forward seriously hurt, poor fellow, I am afraid,"
answered Seymour.

"I'm very sorry for that--I'll go and see him--I wish to speak with
him," replied Courtenay, walking forward.

Robinson was lying near the long brass gun, which was pointed out of the
foremost port, his head pillowed upon the body of the French captain,
who had fallen by his hand, just before he had received his mortal
wound. A musket-ball had entered his groin, and divided the iliac
artery; he was bleeding to death--nothing could save him. The cold
perspiration on his forehead, and the glassy appearance of his eye, too
plainly indicated that he had but a few minutes to live. Courtenay,
shocked at the condition of the poor fellow, who was not only the most
humorous, but one of the ablest seamen in the ship, knelt down on one
knee beside him, and took his hand.

"How do you feel, Robinson? are you in much pain?"

"None at all, sir, thank ye," replied the man, faintly; "but the purser
may chalk me down D.D. as soon as he pleases. I suppose he'll cheat
government out of our day's grub though," continued the man, with a
smile.

Courtenay, aware of the truth of the first observation, thought it no
kindness to attempt to deceive a dying man with hopes of recovery in his
last moments; he therefore continued--"Can I be of any service to you,
Robinson? Is there any thing I can do when you are gone?"

"Nothing at all, sir. I've neither chick nor child, nor relation, that
I know of. Yes, there is one thing, sir, but it's on the bloody side;
the key of the mess chest is in my trousers' pocket--I wish you'd
recollect to have it taken out and given to John Williams; you must