"Thank you--thank you," I exclaimed, overwhelmed with gratitude at the enormous favour done me by the boatswain, of allowing me to run a considerable chance of getting knocked on the head. "Don't say any more about it, Mr Merry," said Mr Johnson; "I always liked you; and I couldn't do for my own son, if I had one, more than I would do for you." The boatswain forgot to ask for his letter back, so I locked it up in my desk, after I had written a few lines to inform my family that, if they received them, it would be to convey the information that I had fallen, nobly fighting for my country, on the field of fame--or something to that effect. I know I thought my epistle so very fine and pathetic that I could not resist the temptation of sending it home, and very nearly frightened my mother and sisters into hysterics, under the belief that I really was numbered among the killed and wounded. It was only when they got to the postscript that they discovered I was all right and well. Having written this despatch, announcing my own demise--which, by the bye, I should certainly not have done had not the boatswain put it into my head--I set to work to make my other preparations. Having secured a pistol, with some powder and bullets, and a cutlass, which I fancied I could handle, I stowed them away in the bows of the pinnace. I never before played the hypocrite, but I was so afraid that my messmates would discover my purpose, that I pretended to take no interest in the proposed expedition, and spoke as if it was an affair in which I should be very sorry to be engaged. I got, in consequence, considerably sneered at: Miss Susan, especially, amused himself at my expense, and told me that I had better go back to my sisters, and help them to sew and nurse babies, if I was afraid of fighting. I bore all that was said with wonderful equanimity, hoping that the next morning would show I was a greater hero than any of them.