uch of the holes as let in the greatest quantity of water. There
was no difficulty in finding them, for the water spouted up in jets in
all directions in the hold.

It must be understood that what was already inside had not yet got to a
level with the sea. Indeed, if it had, we should very soon have gone
down. We succeeded in stopping the greater number, but unfortunately
two or three had been bored low down, and some of the cargo having
washed over them, we could not contrive to reach the places to plug
them. I guessed, when the fact was discovered, that all hopes of
ultimately saving the vessel must be greatly diminished, though what we
had done would enable her to float for some time longer.

I have before been prevented mentioning anything respecting those of my
shipmates who had escaped with their lives. The first person I saw
below was old Cole. He was unhurt, and seemed to take matters as coolly
and quietly as if they were of ordinary occurrence. He had, as I
afterwards discovered, directly he saw the pirate brig running us
aboard, gone below and stowed himself away. I ventured to ask him, on a
subsequent occasion, how it was that he had not remained on deck and
fought on like the rest. "Why, I will tell you, Will," said he; "I have
found out, by a pretty long experience, that if I don't take care of
Number one, no one else will; so, when I saw that nothing more could be
done to beat off the pirates, I thought to myself, there's no use
getting killed for nothing, so I'll just keep in hiding till I see how
things go." La Motte, the Guernsey lad, was unhurt, but we picked up
poor Charley Iffley with an ugly knock on his head, which had stunned
him. He didn't know that his father was killed. We let him perfectly
recover before we told him. I wished to have kept back the knowledge of
this fact from him, but of course as soon as he came on deck he could
not fail to discover it, so La Motte and I broke it to him gently. I
was somewhat shocked to find how little effect it had on him.

"What, father dead, is he? Well, what am I to do then, I wonder?" was
his unfeeling observation.

"And this is the person whom I thought so fine a fellow, and by whom I
was guided rather than by those who loved me best in the world," I
thought to myself. Still, I could not help feeling compassion for my
friend, and I believe he really did feel his father's loss more than his
words would have led me to suppose.

Having