Poor Jack could not hear what Phil said for the roaring of the guns, but he could read the little fellow's lips as he pressed him to drink, and sick to the heart and suffering from the terrible wound which had struck him down, he raised his hand to the tin to steady it and drink, but only to see it fall upon the deck, a splinter having struck it from the boy's hand. Jack's wild eyes seemed to say, Are you hurt? But he too made no sound, for at that moment a little group assembled upon the deck, opened out, and both he and Phil saw the figure of their great commander being borne towards them on his way to the spot where he breathed his last. His eyes were open and he was looking wildly round as if in search of something to guide him as to the progress of the great battle, when all at once they rested upon the childlike face of Phil, as the boy knelt beside his wounded and bleeding friend. A change came over Nelson's face; the wildly anxious look died out, and as his eyes met those of the boy he smiled at him sadly, and Phil rose quickly to his feet, carried away by the childlike feeling of pity for the dying hero. It was almost momentary. Then the little group closed in again and passed along the deck, while with the horror and confusion increasing once more, Phil found himself following Jack Jeens, who was being carried below to where the surgeon and his helpmates were busy over their terrible task, and all that the powder monkey saw more of the Battle of Trafalgar was a dim lanthorn swinging by a hammock in which lay poor Jack Jeens, badly wounded, but with energy enough left to smile at his nurse, who was watching by his side. It was the next morning when, after a stupor-like sleep, Jack opened his eyes, which brightened a little as he saw who was still with him. "Are you better, Jack?" whispered Phil, anxiously. "Lots, boy," was the reply; "only I want to know. Tell me--who won? No, don't, if it was the French." "No, it wasn't them," was the quick reply. "We beat, and everyone says it is a great--great--yes, victory--that's it." "Hoo-roar!" came in a faint whisper from Jack Jeens' lips, and a smile of thankfulness lit up his face for a few moments. But for a few moments only, for like a shadow came the recollection of something he had seen before he had fainted away from loss of blood. He lay for a while gazing at Phil as if afraid to speak. Then summoning up his courage he whispered: "Phil, boy, when I was shot down and you held the water for me to drink, did I dream something?" Phil gazed back in his eyes, but did not speak, for he with the recollection fresh upon him knew what his poor messmate meant. And so they rested for a few moments looking in each other's eyes, till Jack's slowly closed, and he uttered a low groan. "I hoped it was a dream," he said, "and all fancy. But tell me now, Phil, boy; is it true?"