DEAR BRAIL—When you receive this, I shall be at rest far down amongst the tangleweed and coral branches at the bottom of the deep green sea, another sacrifice to the insatiable demon of this evil climate—another melancholy addition to the long list of braver and better men who have gone before me. Heaven knows, and I know, and lament with much bitterness therefor, that I am ill prepared to die, but I trust to the mercy of the Almighty for pardon and forgiveness.
"It is now a week since I was struck by a flash of lightning at noonday, when there was not a speck of cloud in the blue sky, that glanced like a fiery dart right down from the fierce sun, and not having my red woollen nightcap on, that I purchased three years ago from old Jabos of Belfast, the Jew who kept a stall near the quay, it pierced through the skull just in the centre of the bald spot, and set my brain a-boiling and poppling ever since, making a noise for all the world like a buzzing bee-hive. I therefore intend to depart this life at three bells in the middle watch this very night, wind and weather permitting. Alas, alas! who shall tell this to my dear old mother, Widow Donovan, who lives at No. 1050, in Sackville Street, Dublin, the widest thoroughfare in Europe?—or to poor Cathleen O'Haggarty? You know Cathleen, Benjie; but you must never know that she has a glass eye—Ah, yes, poor thing, she had only one eye, but that was a beauty; the other was a quaker;[2] but then she had five thousand good sterling pounds, all in old Peter Macshane's bank at the back of the Exchange; and so her one eye was a blessing to me; for where is the girl with two eyes, and five thousand pounds, all lodged in Peter Macshane's bank at the back of the Exchange, who would have looked at Dennis Donovan, a friendless, penniless lieutenant in the Royal Navy, and son of Widow Donovan, who lives at 1050, Sackville Street, Dublin, the widest thoroughfare in Europe?—Ah, how Cathleen will pipe her real eye—I wonder if she will weep with the false one—I am sure my story might bring tears from a stone, far more a piece of glass—Oh, when she hears I am gone, she will be after breaking her tender little heart—Oh, murder for the notion of it—that's the thought that I can't bear—that is the blow that kills Ned! The last words of Dennis Donovan, who has nothing on earth to brag of beside a mighty pretty person and a brave soul—that's a good one. Adieu, adieu. God bless the King and the Royal Family entirely.
"DENNIS DONOVAN,
"Lieutenant, R.N., and son of Widow Donovan, who lives at 1050, Sackville Street, Dublin, the widest thoroughfare in Europe."
To return.
"And pray," said the commodore, "what captures may you have made in this redoubtable man-of-war of yours—in his Britannic Majesty's felucca, Midge?"
"Why, none, sir," said wee Middy, blushing; "but I hope you will soon put us in the way of having a brush, sir."
"We shall see, we shall see," said the good-hearted old sailor; "but come and take a glass of wine, Mr. Binnacle, and after you have told Mr. Lanyard all about the Midge, what she has, and wants, &c., get on board again, and keep near us for the evening.—I say, Mr. Steelpen," to his clerk, who was lounging about, "Come to the cabin, now, will you, and draw out Mr. Lanyard's instructions, as Mr. Garboard is still confined to his cot."
This was the second lieutenant, who had been ill for a week with fever.
The moment I knew Lanyard was going in the Midge, I determined to accompany him if possible, so I asked the commodore's leave—hinting, that my knowledge of the rivers might be of use. He laughed.
"Pilot, indeed—mind you don't evaporate in one of your pilotings, and then what shall I say to your friends, Master Benjamin?"
I pressed my suit.
"Why, my good boy, you had better not—take my word for it, if you carry on in this way, you will either get your head broken, or be caught by one of these infernal marsh fevers, which will be worse."
"No fear, Sir Oliver, I am a seasoned cask—do give me leave—I shall be back in a week."
"Well, well, as you please, my young master."
And it was at once so fixed.
Lanyard heard the order given, and instantly set about getting his kit arranged for his departure, although he seemed to think it would have been more pleasing in his excellent captain had he appeared to have consulted him a little on the subject; but to hear was to obey, and Dick was quite ready to move by the time he was sent for to receive his orders, when I adjourned to the cabin also, to say good by. Sir Oliver was sitting at his wine; and so soon as the steward had left us to ourselves, the knight rang the bell, the cord of which, ending in a handsome brass handle, hung within a foot of his head.
"Potter, send the first lieutenant here."
Sprawl was in immediate attendance.
"Glad to see you, Mr. Sprawl; sit down, and take wine."
After a pause—
"Do you think, if the breeze holds, that we shall make the land again before morning, Mr. Sprawl?"
"No, sir, for we have run thirty miles off since morning, and there is no appearance of any wind at present; but we should be able, notwithstanding, to beat up to it by noon to-morrow."
"Very well. Pray, Mr. Lanyard, how many men, counting the strangers, are there on board?"
"Thirty-three, sir, all told."
"And the gun she carries?"
"A long twelve, sir, with a six-inch howitzer affair fitted forward, for throwing grape."
"Do you think you could stow ten men more, comfortably?"
Dick had been on board of his new command before he came down, and had made such passing observations as the time permitted.
"Why, I daresay, for a few days we might, sir."
"Then send your purser, or whoever may be acting for him, aboard this evening."
The lieutenant made his bow, whipped off his glass, and went on deck to be off. It was getting dark fast—the wind had risen suddenly—the frigate had been carrying top-gallant sails up to the time I had gone below, but they were now handed, and the watch were in the act of taking a reef in the top-sails.
"Whereabouts is the felucca?" said I to the officer of the watch, the old gunner, who, in the absence of Mr. Garboard, the second lieutenant, who, as already stated, was sick and in his cot, had charge of the deck.
"Close to, sir," was the reply; but presently he continued, looking over the side, "Deuce take me, sir, if I can see her just at this present"——
"You don't? I say, quartermaster, do you see the small craft down to leeward there?"
"No, sir. I sees nothing of her; but she can't be far away, sir, as she was close to, within this last half hour."
By this time the night had fallen with a heavy dew and a thick haze. Presently we saw a small spark down to leeward.
"Ah," said the man again, "there she is; she is in chase of something, sir."
"What can they mean?" said Lanyard. "They know they cannot follow out their chase when I am on board here."
The riddle was soon read. Little Binnacle had returned on board, and, as it turned out, he was determined
