the panic-struck flight, or made prisoners. The whole contest did not last seven minutes. When they found themselves deserted by their men the officers sullenly resigned their swords, and we found that our assailants were a cutting out party from the ship to starboard, an English frigate. The man-of-war had not, it seems, discovered us until some time after the moon arose, when her light, happening to fall full upon our sails, betrayed us to their look-outs. The darkness almost directly afterward obscured us from sight, and the calm that ensued forbade her reaching us herself. Her boats were consequently manned, with the intention of carrying us by boarding. The most singular portion of it was that none of us perceived that the stranger was a man-of-war, but this may be accounted for from her being built after a new model, which gave her the appearance of a merchantman. The bustle of the fight was over; the prisoners had been secured; the decks had been washed down; my wound which turned out slight had been properly attended to; and the watch had once more resumed their monotonous tread; while at proper intervals, the solemn cry, “all’s well,” repeated from look-out to look-out, betokened that we were once more in security, before I sought my hammock. I soon fell asleep, but throughout the night I was troubled by wild dreams in which Beatrice, the ship’s boy, and the late strife, were mingled promiscuously. At length I awoke. It was still dark, and the only light near was a single lantern hung at the extremity of the apartment. My fellow messmates around were all buried in sleep. Suddenly, the surgeon’s mate stood beside me. “Mr. Parker!” said he. I raised myself up and gazed curiously into his face. “Little Dick, sir—” he began. “My God!” I exclaimed, for I had actually forgotten, in the excitement of the combat and the succeeding events, to enquire about my young preserver, and I now felt a strange presentiment that the mate had come to acquaint me with his death—“what of him? Is any thing the matter?” I asked eagerly. “I fear, sir,” said the messenger, shaking his head sadly, “that he cannot live till morning.” “And I have been lying here,” I exclaimed, reproachfully, “while the poor boy is dying,” and I sprang at once from my hammock, hurried on my clothes, saying, “lead me to him at once.” “He is delirious, but in the intervals of lunacy he asks for you, sir,” and as the man spoke we stood by bedside of the dying boy.