V.—The Galley (in the hold).

Let us go back for a minute or two to Tristram.

The oar at which he tugged was one of the starboard tier; and when L'Heureuse missed her stroke, as we have told, it went like a sugar-stick, flinging him and his companions back across the bench. Farther than this they could not fly, because the stout chains which fastened them were but ten feet long. Tristram, indeed, was hurled scarcely so far as the rest, for his seat was the inmost from the gangway, and right against the galley's side; so that he got the shortest swing of the oar.

They scrambled up just as the fire of grape-shot opened. And then Tristram made an appalling discovery.

The hole through which their oar was worked had been split wider by the crash; and now, looking out, he saw that it lay just opposite the mouth of an English cannon. In this position they had been brought up by the frigate's grappling-irons.

It took him but an instant to see also that the cannon, as it stared him in the face, was loaded.

The two vessels, moreover, lay so close that by reaching up with his hand he could have laid his hand on its muzzle.

It was a horrible moment. There were four Frenchmen and a Turk ranged along the bench beside him. He looked into their faces. They were ashen grey to the lips. No one could move to get out of the way: the chains prevented that. The Huguenot was praying wildly. Only the Turk preserved his composure, and even he had turned pale under his bronze skin.

Somebody cried: "Lie flat!"

In a second every one of Tristram's companions had flung himself flat on the bench. Tristram glanced again at the gun. Even at that moment he had enough presence of mind to note that it was pointed downwards, and at such an angle that those who lay flat must infallibly receive all its contents. He noted this even while it seemed that every one of his faculties was frozen up. He felt that he could move neither hand nor foot; and somehow he knew that since, because of the chain, he could not leave the bench, he must sit upright. And so he stiffened his back, laid his hands on his lap, and waited with his eyes on the gun.

Through the port-hole he could see the English gunner. He saw the fuse in his hand. He counted the seconds; wondered, even, how the fellow could be so deliberate. He heard the explosions all around, and speculated. Would the next be his turn? Or the next? Would it be painful? What was the next world like? And would his body be badly mangled?

The gunner had the match ready, when the lad's lips moved and a cry broke from them—a cry which astonished him as he uttered it, for he had no notion that his brain was busy with such matters.

"O! my Father, have pity on my poor soul! I have loved all men and one woman. Give comfort to her, and have mercy on my poor soul!"

As the last word dropped from his lips, a great calm fell upon him and his eyes rested quietly on the gunner's hand as the man set the lighted match to the touch-hole of the gun.

It was night when Tristram opened his eyes again. A pale ray of moonlight slanted across his face. His head was pillowed on something soft and warm. He lay for awhile and stared at the moonlight; and by degrees he made out that it was pouring through a rent in the galley's side. Then he turned his head and lifted himself a little to see what it was on which his head rested. It was the dead body of one of the three overseers, who had been killed almost by the first shot fired by the frigate.

He pulled himself up and crept towards the bench; then put a hand down to his feet. The ring was there, but no chain. Next he felt along the bench with a wish—quite stupid—to get back to his seat. His comrades were still lying on their faces. He imagined for a moment that their foolish fears still held them there and he laughed feebly. He was weak, but felt no pain from any wound, nor suspected that he was hurt.

Then he began to eye the fellows roguishly, taking a malicious pleasure in the continuance of their terror. He tittered again and suddenly found himself out of patience with them.

"Come, get up—get up! The danger's all over long ago."

He received no answer and put out his hand towards the nearest. It was the Turk—a fellow who had been a janizary, and had the reputation of not knowing what fear was.

"Hullo, Ysouf! Get up, for shame—get up, man! And you—that we called so brave!"

Ysouf lay still. Tristram bent forward and took his hand.

The hand came away from the body. It was icy cold.

Still holding it, Tristram leant back and stared; and as he stared a pettish anger took him. He tossed the hand back on the body. And now for the first time he began to hear; and as this lost sense crept back to him he knew that the place was full of moaning, and that somewhere close feet were trampling to and fro. The noise caused him agony, and he put his two hands to his ears.

He was sitting in this posture when he felt something warm and moist trickle down his body, which was naked to the waist. He took a hand from his ear and put it to his breast. It was all wet, but in the darkness nothing could be distinguished. Suspecting, however, that it must be blood from some wound, and following the smear with his fingers, he found that his shoulder, near the clavicle was pierced right through. There was no pain.

Then he began to feel himself all over, and found another gash in the left leg, below the knee. He searched no more, feeling that it was useless, as he was bound to die in a little while. The men before him and behind him were dead. Of eighteen men on the three benches he—who had been blown the full length of the coursier—was the only one left; and all owing to the explosion of one cannon only. But such was the manner of grape-shot: after the cartouche of powder, a long tin box of musket-balls rammed in; and as the box breaks, destruction right and left.

As he sat, waiting listlessly for death, the sense of pain came suddenly upon Tristram; and then he swooned away.