"Well, sir, what d'ye think? me?--earty fighter, ain't I?" CHAPTER XIII AFTER THE FIGHT I All was very still on the deck of the _Tremendous_; and those quiet men lolling in the sun added to the hush. They sprawled about in all attitudes--on their faces, on their backs, in each other's arms, as though snoozing. And the snoring noise that came from one or two of them enhanced the illusion. Only the blank unwinking eyes of those upon their backs, the expression of the upturned faces, and the wet red stuff smeared everywhere, showed that they were not holiday picnickers. Aft by the binnacle a man sat up against the side watching with appalling solemnity the blood pat-pat-patting down from a wound in his side. He dabbed a finger in the mess, and scrawled his name on the deck, Tom Bleach. R.I.P._ "Tom Bleach--Remember Im Please," he repeated, nodding his head with portentous gravity. A white and crimson huddle beside him groaned. The man of letters frowned at it. "How d'ye feel, cookie?" he asked. "Mortal queer," whispered the dying man. "It do feel queer, dyin," admitted the other solemnly. A French officer close by opened glazed eyes. "I too I die," he announced. "What then will I do?" "Why, pray God forgive you bein French," growled old Ding-dong, propped against the wheel. "That's your worst crime." II The boy came up from below, deathly pale, the wind lifting his hair. He crossed to the old Commander, reeling faintly among the dead as he came. "Lanyon alive?" "Yes, sir. All well below," in thin and ghostly voice. The old man nodded satisfaction. "Starry fighter, ain't he?--Wonderful gift that way. Don't know as I ever saw his ekal at a pinch." He looked up at the lad, swaying above him. "Feel funny?" The boy did not reply, leaning against the side, a far-away look in his eyes. Then he burst into tears. "There, there!" said the old man soothingly. "Sure to come a bit okkud-like first start-off. It's been a nasty beginning for you too--messy fightin, I call it. Look at my quarter-deck! More like a slaughter-house nor a King's ship." He mopped at his leg. "And all the shore-goin folk on their knees in Church all the time!--Funny to think on, ain't it?" III The Gunner came up the ladder. A sack was cast about his naked shoulders; his cocked hat was on the back of his head; and a tooth-pick between his lips. He strolled to the side. Beneath him the _Cocotte_, smoking like a damped furnace, the blood trickling from between her seams, was settling fast. "Got her bellyful all snug," said the Gunner complacently, picking his teeth. He strolled off to old Ding-dong, propped on his corpse beside the wheel. "Well, sir, you play a pretty stick with a handspike still!--how's yerself?" "Tidy," grunted the veteran. "How fur's yon frigate yet? I can't see over the side, settin on my little sofia." "Within random shot, sir. She's got a slant of wind, and is crowding all sail to get alongside."