"And let those rapscallions get the weathergage of you? No, no--I would never die while I could live--never sink while I could swim, and that I consider good salt-water philosophy. Yet when the death-watch _is_ piped, doubt not, your majesty, that old Andrew Wood will be found at his post, though he would be sorry to strike his flag before he had brought a few of these traitors up all standing at the bar of Divine Justice. Your majesty is only half my age--and to think of dying----" "Father Zuill," said James, turning to the chaplain, who at that moment came on deck; "in this matter, what opinion have you to offer me?" "We should remember the words of Seneca," replied the priest, folding his hands on his breast, and looking down; "he says--it is uncertain at what place death awaits thee, so wait thou for him in every place. Before old age be careful to _live_ well, and in old age be careful to _die_ well--and herein Seneca gave sound advice." "Alas, good priest," responded the sad king, "art thou a Scottish subject, and yet forget that thy kings--unhappy race!--never live to become old men?" "But their virtues and honour survive the tomb," replied the chaplain; "true philosophy can only be acquired by mental suffering. There was a learned Persian who was wont to aver that he who had not suffered knew nothing." Here the Admiral, who had a great aversion for this kind of conversation, which he did not understand, hailed the maindeck. "How is she going, Barton?" "Eight knots--clear off the wet reel, Sir Andrew." "Keep her away a point or two to the south, and close the lee ports, for now we are past the guns of Broughty." "We weary thee, worthy admiral," said the gentle king; "but I pray thee, Sir Andrew, to excuse my sadness." Largo bowed, and reddened with a feeling of vexation, that the king had detected his impatience. "I am a cold comforter for those who are in trouble," said he, "for I am but a plain-spoken mariner, who know of nothing beyond the ropes of a ship and the points of a compass; but we sailors, though our tongues may be less ready than our hands, have our hearts in the right place, our anchor is hope, and the blessed gospels our helm and compass--religion is our polestar, and loyalty our pilot." "I defy thee, Father Zuill, to have expressed this better," said the king, with a smile; "how many of those dog nobles who are the curse of Scotland could say as much?"