"He was mad, ye see. She'd gone to his head; and she's stayed there ever since. Mad--as a man. As a sailor he's still Nelson--the first seaman afloat, ever was, or will be." There was a thrill in the fading voice; a thrill of devotion to the man who had destroyed him. "So he broke me, Nelson did, and I don't blame him: discipline is discipline, all said. Told the Admiralty they could choose between him and me--between Lord Nelson of the Nile, that is, and old Ding-dong, who'd climbed to the quarter-deck through the hawse-holes.... So they chose." The sea rustled; the night was sprinkled with stars. "But I've paid him now," ended the old man comfortably. "Reck'n I've paid him now." Kit had heard the tale with puzzled but passionate interest. "What was it all about, sir?" he asked at last in awed voice. "Why; what it's always about," grunted the other. "One o them gals." He coughed faintly. "Thank the Lord there's been nobbut one woman in ma life, and that's the one a man can't help. "What did I want with a pack?--trashy wives?... Nay. Fear God; fight to a finish; and steer clear o them gals--that's been old Ding-dong's rule o life: and it's the whole duty of a British seaman." The old man's hand stirred in the boy's. "In ma breech-pocket you'll find a Noo Testament and the Articles o War--all my readin these forty year; and all a sailor needs. Take em and study em. It'll pay you. Happen they run a bit athwart here and there; but that makes no odds, if you keep your head. There's always light enough to steer by if your heart's right. 'Christ's my compass,' your father'd say. 'He don't deviate.'" The old man lay back, his eyes shut, the light on his uplifted face. About him was stillness, hushed waters, and the moon a silver bubble. In the quiet cove, beneath the quiet stars, after sixty years of storm, his soul was slipping away into the Great Quiet. "I like layin here," came the ghostly voice. "So calm-like a'ter the trouble." The cold fingers grew stiff; the eyes closed. Kit laid a hand on the old man's forehead, and stroked his hair. "I'm a-coomin," came a tiny chuckle as of a sleepy child--"Billy's coomin." Seaward something flapped. The boy turned. At first he thought the Angel of Death was hovering over the white waters on sable wings. Then he recognised what he saw for the flag on the splintered mizzen of the _Tremendous_ saluting solemnly the dying seaman. Old Ding-dong saw it too. He raised his head. The moonlight was on his face, and the hand in Kit's quivered. "Them's my colours," he whispered. "I never struck em." BOOK II _BEACHY HEAD_ I THE GAP GANG CHAPTER XX THE LAST OF A BRITISH SEAMAN I The dawn-wind blowing chilly on the boy's skin roused him. All night he had slept like a child far from the world and its terrible distresses. The weary body had brought peace to the worn mind. The two had merged in sleep, neither demanding aught of the other except to feed and to refresh.