“There was poor Joe Kelson, in the old Sandwich, under Rodney, had his wife on board when they engaged the French fleet off Martinique. She was a timid, delicate little body, one who had been tenderly brought up; yet she left all the luxuries of the shore, a father’s house and a mother’s love, to brave the dangers of the ocean and share a piece of salt junk and a biscuit with the being she loved. Ah, I can remember her looks the morning of the action, while we stood at breakfast! Her face was pale and her quivering lip and tearful eye told all the anguish of her soul. Joe tried to comfort her, but ’twas useless: he talked of honour and of glory; but what was honour and glory to a fainting spirit? Her heart was overwhelmed, and when she came afterward to his quarters on the lower deck, she could hardly support her trembling frame. It was just about noon, and she brought him a bit of dinner: they sat down upon the gun-trucks; but neither of ’em could eat, and it was a hard task upon poor Joe to preserve his firmness. All hands pitied them; and when they parted for the last time, there was scarce a dry eye at the gun. “Well, d’ye see, about half an hour afterwards we began to engage; but there were cowards in the fleet, rank cowards, and the admiral wasn’t properly supported; so the old Sandwich bore the brunt of the battle, and hot enough it was, too; many a poor fellow dropt his peak and bore up, and as is customary, were directly launched out at the port. At last, poor Joe received a mortal wound that stretched him on the deck. We lifted him up in our arms to carry him to the surgeons in the cock-pit; but he opened his eyes, tried to speak, then gave one convulsive shudder as the last death-pang parted soul and body, and his mortal agonies were over. We stood for the port to give him a sailor’s grave; when, just at this moment, his wife appeared close to us. She had suffered all the tortures of suspense, till apprehension and anxiety for her husband’s safety overcame every fear, and she stood at our sides. The body was half out, and perhaps she would not have recognised it but for her own handkerchief, which she had tied round his neck. We all looked at each other, and then at her, undetermined what to do. She stopped for an instant, and gazed at the face of her husband, as if trying to trace the features; her eye caught the token on his breast; she sprung forward,--but ’twas too late--the body of poor Joe was already in the ocean-wave.