cry of fire was raised, which caused
great confusion; and another cry, announcing that the captain had
fallen, increased the disorder.

A ball crashed through the taffrail, near where Jack and Fritz were
standing; it passed between them, but they were both severely wounded
by the splinters, and were conveyed by Willis to the cockpit. The
doctor, seeing his old friend Jack handed down the ladder, hastened
towards him and tore out a piece of wood from the fleshy part of his
arm. He next turned to Fritz, who had received a severe flesh-wound on
the shoulder. When both wounds were bandaged, he left the care of the
young men to Willis, who had escaped with a few scratches, which,
however, were bleeding pretty freely--to these he did not pay the
slightest attention.

"How stands the contest?" inquired Fritz in a weak voice.

"The _Hoboken_ is done for," replied Willis; "the commodore was
preparing to board when we left the deck; but it does not make much
difference; we shall go to England instead of America, that is all."

"God's will be done," said Fritz.

Just then Bill Stubbs was swung down in a hammock; both his legs had
been shot off by a cannon ball. The surgeon could only now attend to a
tithe of his patients, so numerous had the wounded become. A glance at
the new comer satisfied him that he was beyond all human skill, and he
directed his attention to the cases that promised some hopes of
recovery. Willis, seeing that his old comrade was abandoned to die
almost uncared for, staunched his wounds as well as he could, fetched
him a panniken of water, and performed a number of other little acts
of kindness and good will. This he did, less with a view of obtaining
an explanation from him at a moment when no man lies, than to mitigate
the pangs of his last convulsions. For an instant the old mariner's
body appeared re-animated with life. His eyes were fixed upon Willis
with an ineffable expression of recognition and regret. He
convulsively grasped the Pilot's hand and pressed it to his breast,
and his lips parted as if to speak. Willis bent his ear to the mouth
of the dying man, but all that followed was an expiring sigh. His
earthly career was ended.

The hardy sailor who is supposed never to shed a tear, then wiped the
corner of his eyes. Next he turned to the children of his adoption,
whose pale faces indicated the amount of blood they had shed, and
whose wounds, if he could have transferred them to himself, would