still fighting our frigate. He climbed up
the side with his one arm, but in a few
minutes the vessel blew up, and the brave
fellow probably perished with the rest of
his comrades.

Half an hour after I had crept in at a
lower deck port of the Genoa, and had got
back to my gun, our good old captain was
struck in the groin by a grape shot of about
four pounds weight. One of the lads who
carried him down happening to stumble
and hurt his wound, the old man frowned,
and hit the boy a smart blow with his
knuckles: and said, "Can't you carry
me easier, sir?" The report that our
captain was mortally wounded flew round the
decks like lightning, and all the firing
ceased for about two minutes: every one
looking as if he himself was struck. Then,
as if by one impulse, the whole crew at
once yelled, "Our captain is killed!" and
our firing began a thousand times hotter
than ever. The Turkish line–of–battle ship
near us now broke into a blaze, but still
the lower deck and some of her main deck
guns maintained a hot and galling fire
on our bow, and presently she blew tip
with a furious explosion, driving showers
of iron, burning wood, and nails into our
ports. A single forty–two pound shot that
came through one of our ports at about
this period of the engagement, killed four
men and wounded two. This was the most
murderous shot the Turks sent at us, but
another heavy one took us on the main
deck, knocked away the whole side of a
port, and cleared the gun. A father and
son were at this spot; the father was killed,
the son was knocked down but not wounded.
Nine of the petty officers had wives on
board, and they were employed with the
doctor and his mates in the cockpit dressing
the wounds or serving water round to
the thirsty.

About half–past five I had to go to the
after magazine for some tubes for the guns,
and not much liking the exposure, I made
a race for it. As I passed the main ladder,
I found that a Mr. Rowe, a young midshipman,
had just been wounded badly by a
splinter in the calf of the leg. He stamped
his foot, and said, "Oh, damn it, never
mind; it's nothing but a scratch," and
waved his sword to encourage the men.
Two minutes after, when I passed with
the box of tubes, I saw him a mangled
corpse, his hand still grasping his sword.
A bell began to ring backwards, and there
was a cry of "Up there, boarders and firemen."
I snatched up my pistols and cutlass
from where I had stowed them, and made
for the starboard quarter. When I
reached the quarter–deck, I found that the
ship's mainsail, which hung loose, had
caught fire, and that a midshipman and
some sailors were on the yard cutting
away the canvas with their knives.

It was now getting dark, and the bay
was lighted up with the glare of the burning
vessel; but the crescent still flew at her
mast heads and mizen peaks. Even when
she had half sunk, the red flag and yellow
crescents floated on the wrecks, till they
were level with the water. The two large
dismasted vessels that had attacked us were
now lying aground on a small island in the
bay, where our men compared them to two
old horses standing in a park with their
necks across. About six o'clock, the
enemy's heavy fire began to slack, and,
wishing to bring the affair to a close, we gave
three cheers, and poured in a tremendous
broadside. Presently we heard Captain
Dickenson, who had taken the command
when Captain Bathurst was wounded,
shouting through his speaking trumpet
down the main hatchway, "Cease firing!"

"Cease firing?" said the captain of our
guns. "Likely! Before they douse that
bit of red bunting! Come, my lads, let's
give 'em another dose!"

When the captain came down on the
lower deck to stop the firing, our excuse
was, "The gun's loaded, sir," and directly
he turned his back we fired. But this
was only two or three rounds, and when
the enemy's ships entirely ceased firing, we
gave up the contest, and began to lean
out of the ports to look about us. We
now had time to observe the carnage on
our own decks, and the gory heaps
collected under the after ladder. We also
began to throw some of the bodies
overboard. Snatching up a lantern, I went
down in the cockpit to look for a messmate.
I found him, at last, sitting on a
midshipman's chest. His lips moved, but he
was fast dying.

"Tom, Tom," I said, "can't you speak
to me?"

He pressed my hand feebly, but could
not speak. I was lifting his head, to
put a bag under it, when the master–at–arms
came down, and ordered me on deck.
The doctor had given strict orders not to
allow any one to stay, or to talk to the
wounded. When I went on deck they were
just going to bury a sailor, and his wife was
on her knees beside the corpse, stroking
his hair, and crying, "Poor Jem, poor