It was a sad night and a bitter, for as soon as darkness came down upon us, the poor women, who had held up so well all day, broke down, and you could hear the smothered sobbing and wailing, till it went through you like a knife. I believe they tried all they could to keep it in, poor things; but then 'tain't in 'em, you know, to keep up long; and then when the children broke out too, and wanted all sorts of things that they couldn't have, why, it was awful. We had no lights, for they wouldn't give us any, so we all had to set to, to try and make the best of everything; but we couldn't, you see, not even second best, try how we would. "Only a bit of a cut, sir," I says to Mr Ward, who was going round and doing what he could in the dark for we chaps as had got knocked about. "I sha'n't hurt. See to Bill Smith here. Tell you what it is though, sir--you won't catch me at sea again in such a Noah's Ark as this here." "Hush, my man," he says, "and try all you can to help." "In course I will, sir," I says; and then, hearing a growl on my right, I says: "That ain't Bill, sir, that's Sam. He's all right: nobody can't hurt him, his blessed head's too thick." Directly after the doctor felt his way to Bill Smith, and tied up his head a bit, while I was wondering what to do for the best, listening all the time to women wailing, and little ones letting go, as if with the full belief that they'd got the whole of the trouble in the ship on their precious little heads. What seemed the best thing to do was to quiet some of them; and if it had been daylight, a sight or two of my phiz would have frightened 'em into peace; but how to do it now, I didn't know. "Howsoever, here goes for a try," I says; and I groped my way along as well as I could, expecting every moment to be deafened, when I turned half mad with rage, for some one yells down the skylight: "Stop that noise!" and at the same moment there was a pistol fired right into the wailing crowd; then there was a sharp clear shriek, and directly after a stillness that was awful. "It was a cruel cowardly act," I heard some one say then close to me; "but, Miss Bell,"--And then directly came the young lady's voice saying: "It is almost as cowardly, sir, to speak to me in this way, when I am so unprotected." "By your leave," I says gruffly, and I felt a little hand laid on my arm. "Is that you, Mr Roberts?" says Miss Bell, and I could feel her soft breath on my cheek. "It's old Tom Roberts, without the Mister, ma'am," I says, "and at your sarvice. What shall I do?" What could I do? Rum question, wasn't it? When, if she didn't put a little toddling thing into my arms--a bit of a two-year-older, as was just beginning to cry again, after the fright of the pistol; but I turned myself into a sort of cradle, got rocking about, and if the soft round little thing didn't go off fast asleep, and breathe as reg'lar as so much clockwork!