He is, we hear, a hale
old man. And now, Harry, I have told you a long story enough for
to-day. Some other time I will tell you more about the wonders of
Rupert's Land.

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER ONE.

THE BOATSWAIN'S SON.

It was the memorable 1st of June. A sea fight ever to be renowned in
history was raging between the fleets of England and France. The great
guns were thundering and roaring, musketry was rattling, round-shot, and
chain-shot, and grape, and langridge, and missiles of every description,
invented for carrying on the bloody game of war, were hissing through
the air, crashing against the sides of the ships, rending them asunder,
shattering the tall masts and spars, sending their death-dealing
fragments flying around, and hurling to the deck, mangled and bleeding,
the gallant seamen as they stood at their quarters in all the pride of
manhood, fighting for the honour and glory of their respective
countries. A dark canopy hung over the scene, every moment increasing
in density as the guns belched forth their flashes of flame and clouds
of smoke, filling the pure air of heaven with sulphureous vapours, and
almost concealing the fierce combatants from each other's gaze.

"Who is that brave youngster?" asked the captain of the renowned
"Marlborough," a seventy-four, which lay hotly engaged surrounded by
foes in the thick of the fight; "I never saw a cooler thing or better
timed."

"The son of Mr Ripley the boatswain, sir," was the answer.

"I must have my eye on him, there is stuff in that lad," observed the
captain. The deed which had called forth this eulogium was certainly
well worthy of praise. The "Marlborough" had for some time been
furiously engaged, almost broadside to broadside, with the "Impetueux,"
a French seventy-four, which ship had just fallen aboard her, the
Frenchman's bowsprit becoming entangled in her mizen rigging. To keep
her antagonist in that position was of the greatest consequence to the
"Marlborough," as she might thus rake her fore and aft, receiving but
little damage in return. An officer and two or three men sprang into
the "Marlborough's" mizzen rigging to secure the bowsprit to it. The
French small-arm men rushed forward to prevent this being done, by
keeping up a fire of musketry. The two seamen fell. The lieutenant
still hung in the rigging, but the rope with which he was lashing the
bowsprit to it was shot from his hand; no other was within reach.
Having jus