“Is the poor fellow actually expended?” said the Englishman, in something like the tones of regret; “well, he had a soldier's mettle in him, and was nearly as great a fool as myself!” The marines had, luckily for the soldiers and their captain, by this time discovered the signs of life in their own commander, who had been only slightly stunned by the bullet, which had grazed his crown, and who, being assisted on his feet, stood a minute or two rubbing his head, as if awaking from a dream. As Manual came gradually to his senses, he recollected the business in which he had just been engaged, and, in his turn, inquired after the fate of his antagonist. “I am here, my worthy incognito,” cried the other, with the voice of perfect good nature; “lying in the lap of mother earth, and all the better for opening a vein or two in my right leg;--though I do think that the same effect might have been produced without treating the bone so roughly!--But I opine that I saw you also reclining on the bosom of our common ancestor.” “I was down for a few minutes, I do believe,” returned Manual; “there is the path of a bullet across my scalp.” “Humph! on the head!” said Borroughcliffe, dryly; “the hurt is not likely to be mortal, I see.--Well, I shall offer to raffle with the first poor devil I can find that has but one good leg, for who shall have both; and that will just set up a beggar and a gentleman!--Manual, give me your hand; we have drunk together, and we have fought; surely there is nothing now to prevent our being sworn friends.” “Why,” returned Manual, continuing to rub his head, “I see no irremovable objections--but you will want a surgeon? Can I order anything to be done? There go the signals again to embark--march the fellows down at quick time, sergeant; my own man may remain with me, or, I can do altogether without assistance.” “Ah! you are what I call a well-made man, my dear friend!” exclaimed Borroughcliffe; “no weak points about your fortress! Such a man is worthy to be the _head_ of a whole corps, instead of a solitary company.--Gently, Drill, gently; handle me as if I were made of potter's clay.--I will not detain you longer, my friend Manual, for I hear signal after signal; they must be in want of some of your astonishing reasoning faculties to set them afloat.” Manual might have been offended at the palpable allusions that his new friend made to the firmness of his occiput, had not his perception of things been a little confused by a humming sound that seemed to abide near the region of thought. As it was, he reciprocated the good wishes of the other, whom he shook most cordially by the hand, and once more renewed his offers of service, after exchanging sundry friendly speeches.