The loss on both sides was great, though that of the French greatly exceeded that of the British. Harry, fearing that the French might take it in their heads to set upon him again, as they were still so much superior in number, ordered them below, and battened down the hatches upon them all, except the surgeon and his mate, whom he kept to assist his own in dressing the wounds of the men. On looking amongst the slain of his crew, Harry observed amongst them the stiffened corpse of poor Bill Curtis. Harry could not help shedding a tear to the memory of this brave fellow, who had so nobly seconded him in the time of need. Bill was covered with gore; but an air of defiance was still seated upon his countenance, and his hand still firmly grasped his cutlass, which had that day been wielded with so much success against the enemies of his country. The old quartermaster came up at this moment, and Harry, shaking him by the hand, said to him, “I believe we must have you tried by court-martial, for disobedience of orders. However,” he added, more seriously, “I believe, had it not been for your disobedience of orders, we should have all been in the state of that poor fellow,” pointing to Bill. “Ay,” said the old quartermaster with a sigh, “a braver fellow never stepped in a black leather shoe. However, it’s a road we must travel once; and where die better than fighting for one’s country? For my part, I would sooner die on a ship’s deck, with the thunder of the cannon sounding in my ears, than on a bed of the finest down.” The people on the shore, seeing that the danger was over, and that the British had gained the victory, had now manned several boats, and were approaching the ships. In the foremost of these was old Ben, who, being the proprietor of the village in which he lived, took upon himself, on all expeditions by sea, the office of commodore of the fleet. “A noble fellow the captain of that there little craft,” exclaimed Ben, as he approached the _Hawk_; “he deserves to be made an admiral, whoever he is. Gracious Heaven, there is my own nephew, Harry!” cried he, springing up the fore chains. “My own uncle, Ben!” exclaimed Harry, springing forward to embrace him. Cordial, indeed, was the meeting of the uncle and nephew; and perhaps it were difficult to tell which was the greater—the joy of the nephew, or the pride of the uncle. “But you are all blood, Harry,” said the uncle—“you must be wounded.” “A mere scratch,” said Harry; “but some of my poor fellows have suffered; but, as the wind favours, we had better get the vessels into the harbour.”