a
poor boy--one of those brave little fellows called powder-monkeys--who
was in the act of carrying a cartridge to Ben Bolter. Ben could not
delay the loading of the piece to assist the little fellow, who used his
remaining strength to stagger forward and deliver the cartridge before
he fell, but he shouted hastily to a passing shipmate--

"Here, Davis, carry this poor little chap to the cockpit."

Davis turned and took the boy in his arms. He had almost reached the
main hatchway when a shell entered the ship and burst close to him. One
fragment killed the boy, and another almost cut Davis in two. They fell
and died together.

For a long time this terrible firing at short range went on, and many
men fell on both sides. Among others, Captain Westcott was killed. He
was the only captain who fell in that battle, and was one who, had his
life been spared, would certainly have risen to the highest rank in the
service. He had "risen from the ranks," having been the son of a baker
in Devonshire, and gained the honourable station in which he lost his
life solely through his conspicuous abilities and courage.

Up to this point none of those who are principally concerned in this
tale had received any hurt, beyond a few insignificant scratches, but
soon after the death of the little boy, Tom Riggles received a severe
wound in the leg from a splinter. He was carried below by Bill and Ben.

"It's all over with me," he said in a desponding tone as they went
slowly down the ladders; "I knows it'll be a case o' ampitation."

"Don't you go for to git down-hearted, Tom," said Ben earnestly.
"You're too tough to be killed easy."

"Well, I _is_ tough, but wot'll toughness do for a feller agin iron
shot. I feels just now as if a red-hot skewer wos rumblin' about among
the marrow of my back-bone, an' I've got no feelin' in my leg at all.
Depend upon it, messmates, it's a bad case."

His comrades did not reply, because they had reached the gloomy place
where the surgeons were engaged at their dreadful work. They laid Tom
down on a locker.

"Good-bye, lads," said Tom, as they were about to turn away, "p'r'aps
I'll not see ye again, so give us a shake o' yer flippers."

Bill and Ben silently squeezed their comrade's hand, being unable to
speak, and then hastened back to their stations.

It was about this time that the _L'Orient_ caught fire, and when Bill
and his friend reached the deck, sheets of flame were already leapi