Observed a ship on the horizon with sails furled. She proved to be an East Indiaman, the _Marquis of Huntley_, having carried away her rudder. We sent assistance and supplied bar iron and spike-nails. Remained by until she was safe to proceed. A seaman named Leaves fell from aloft, but, having struck the quarter-davit, we could not recover the body. [Sidenote: March 8.] I now come to an event in my life which I would fain leave out, but having promised to tell the “truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth,” must go on. We were off Ceylon, hoping to reach Trincomalee the following day. Mine was the second dog-watch, which had come to an end, and a squall was brewing. Tyndal, although the son of a Judge, was not a smart relief. It was near one bell before he came up, and the squall came down. I appeared in the gunroom as if I had been overboard, seated myself at the table, and called for grog. Now, Hutton, who for his cheery disposition was named “Dirk Hatterick,” came behind, and as I was about to console my shivering timbers, my chair tilted backwards, the contents of the glass caught Dirk in the tender part of his eyes. He rushed in pain to his cabin, while I consoled myself with a second edition. Here the affair might and ought to have ended, but for my folly. The following day, while seated with Knox at the gunroom table, Hutton on deck looking out for a meridian altitude, Knox asked Hutton up the skylight the latitude, which was given. I remarked, “You can’t go by Dirk’s reckoning.” To which Hutton retorted: “Mr. Keppel, I want none of your remarks.” I was up on the instant, and told him that if he had thrown grog in _my_ eyes he would have heard of it by this time. Now, there were two Irishmen on the station about my age, the very boys to arrange matters. They had both been at the Naval College with me. One, Lloyd, belonged to the ship. [Sidenote: Mar. 10.] Arrived Trincomalee. Found, as I expected, _Crocodile_, 28, Captain J. W. Montague. O’Brien soon visited me. I already had a visit from Lloyd, sent by Hutton: demanding “Apology or satisfaction.” O’Brien knew exactly how the ropes led on shore. These affairs do not require talk. “Half an hour before sunset, outside the fortifications.” Officers of garrison had gone to dress for dinner. Everything quiet. Duelling pistols were heavy, ugly things: single barrels, a foot long. But in those days the refinement of detonating caps, instead of flint and steel, had been introduced. O’Brien had obtained a surgeon and the necessary instruments. Our friends seemed to understand their business. Ground of twelve paces measured. Lloyd was to drop a white handkerchief. As I had been the aggressor, I did not wish to draw blood, but held straight enough to make my opponent believe I meant business.