Howard and Browne and gave them commissions as acting lieutenants, appointing them, at the same time, as supernumeraries in his own ship, to fill up vacancies in gun-boats.

Browne was an unimportant individual, but Howard was a great loss to the ship; he was a good seaman and officer, and as senior member of the gunroom mess kept them all in order without any unpleasantness.

Tom Marston was very sorry to lose him; he was midshipman of his watch, and Howard had taken some trouble to teach him his duty, in addition to which he had always treated him as a friend, and frequently given him good advice; for, though a wild, careless fellow off duty, Howard was anything but a fool, and possessed more than the average amount of sound

common-sense.

Dashwood, who succeeded Howard as senior member of the mess, and officer of Tom's watch, Tom disliked as much as he liked the other, and soon they came to open war.

On many occasions Dashwood had struck and kicked Tom for minor offences against a senior midshipman's code of morality for junior midshipmen. Tom had put up with it, remembering Howard's first advice to him on board the Victory; but at last their relations became very strained.

One day Tom had a quarrel with Devereux, which ended in the other going off crying to Dashwood, who was his protector, complaining that Tom had licked him. Dashwood immediately came into the mess, and seizing one of the battens from the bookshelves-intended to keep the books from tumbling out when the ship was knocking about at sea-struck Tom several times with it, and eventually broke it over his shoulders. Tom said nothing at the time; but afterwards consulted Russell, who hated Dashwood, as to whether he was obliged to submit tamely to a licking from Dashwood.

"Certainly not," replied Russell, "if you think you can hold your own.'

"Well, I shall have a try next time he lays a finger on me," said Tom determinedly.

"All right, and I will see fair play if I am present," answered Russell.

The occasion came the following day.

It was Dashwood's and Tom's forenoon watch. When the watch was over Tom wrote up the log, but forgot to take it up to Dashwood to initial it, who waited on deck for it for some minutes; then, coming down, he found Tom sitting in the berth awaiting Dashwood's arrival to commence dinner. Russell was

at the other end of the table cutting up some tobacco preparatory to going on deck for a smoke.

Why did you not bring up the log for me to sign?" Dashwood asked.

"I forgot it," replied Tom.

"Then take that to refresh your memory," said Dashwood, picking up the soup-ladle and hitting Tom a blow on the head with it which partially stunned him. Tom dropped his head on the table and buried his face in his folded arms.

"By Jove! you have stunned him," said Russell; the sound of whose voice immediately restored Tom to consciousness.

"Come, rouse up, youngster," said Dashwood in a fright.

He little thought the effect his words would have. Tom jumped up like a Jack-in-the-box, and launching out his fist, he caught Dashwood a blow on the nose which destroyed the symmetry of that feature for the rest of the owner's life.

Dashwood attempted to regain possession of the soup-ladle; but Tom closed with him and forced him back on the lockers.

Then Russell's voice rang out: have no rough-and-tumble here. table."

"Stop that; we'll Steward, clear the

This was done in a minute. Then Russell called upon Otter and Devereux, who were in the mess, to unship the table; which was done by lifting it off the iron legs which were fixed to the deck. The table was then stood up on its side, which gave a clear space of about eight feet by four.

In the meantime Tom had divested himself of his jacket, and turned up his shirt sleeves.

Dashwood stood pale as death, staunching the blood that was running from his nose, and vainly attempting to look dignified. A stand-up fight was the last thing he desired; for he was a coward. He tried to collect his scattered faculties, to enable him to enter some protest; but the decisive tones of Russell's voice arranging the preliminaries struck despair to his heart and took away all hope of avoiding the encounter.

Dashwood was nineteen years old; a big, burly fellow, who should have been powerful, but was soft and flabby from his indulgence in unmanly pursuits, and the pleasures of the table.

Tom was more than two years younger; tall and active, a mass of bone and muscle, whose bright, clear eyes gave evidence of his good health and condition, while his animated face showed the possession of nerve and courage so wanting in the countenance of his adversary.

Dashwood knew that Tom was an adept at boxing; he had seen him hold his own with any officer in the ship; and, although Dashwood did not care for that form of amusement himself, and had never taken part in it, he had frequently been a spectator, and knew he was no match for his youthful antagonist.

He thought that perhaps in a sudden onslaught, by exerting all his strength, and with his much heavier weight, he might finish Tom off by a coup de main, and he essayed it.

That sort of thing may succeed, and very often does, in a street row with cads, who know nothing of

the noble art; but with Tom, who had been accustomed to box since he was a small child, it was a dead failure; it was the very attack he expected and was prepared for. He stopped all Dashwood's blows as calmly as though they had been roses thrown at a carnival, and then, when a chance offered, he repaid them back with interest on the other's ribs. Body blows to any one in Dashwood's condition are more calculated to take the pluck out of a man than anything. He felt he was lost; he gave a despairing look round, like a rat in a pit, then sank back gasping on to one of the lockers.

"Time!" called Russell, and Tom seated himself at the other end of the berth.

They were given a spell for a minute, during all which time Dashwood tried in vain to link words together for an effective remonstrance; but his moral courage was as poor in quality as his physical, and, when Russell shouted out, "Time's up. Quarters for action!" he dared not decline.

Tom's shoulders were still smarting from the illtreatment he had received from Dashwood the previous day. There was a bump on his head the size of a pigeon's egg, from the blow of the soup-ladle. Many an undeserved licking and brutal taunt were remembered by Tom as he stood and felt that his hour of vengeance was come.

Dashwood scarcely made any attempt to repel Tom's vigorous attack. His general idea of fighting was to swing his arms about like a woman; but so sure as he removed his arms away from his face, Tom's fists dashed in like flashes of lightning and dealt stinging blows.

At last he could stand it no longer, and, turning round, he made for the door and tried to escape.

Tom did not care for such a one-sided fight; but he determined to settle for once and for all who was master. He jumped after Dashwood, caught him by the collar from behind, and gave him two swinging

boxes on the ear with his open hand, exclaiming at the same time, "You bullying cur, you're not worth fighting," and, as Dashwood managed to get the door open, Tom released his collar and assisted him in his departure with a rousing kick, which precipitated him into the steerage on all fours, whence he crawled into the carpenter's cabin and hid himself from the public gaze.

Tom called to the steward to bring in his dinner, and, as Dashwood did not appear for his share, Tom took the liberty of eating it.

Thenceforward peace and comfort reigned in the Russell took the lead in everything, gun-room mess.

and Dashwood's voice was seldom heard.

AFTER the encouragement afforded by the capture of the prize, every one on board the Briseis was more than ever on the alert. In addition to the ship being constantly on the move, boats were sent away cruising for periods of two and three weeks at a time, to watch the coast and keep up a regular blockade; but for some months no further success attended their efforts.

As Marston looked fully two or three years older than his age, he was frequently employed on this service; for it very often happens in the Navy, and, for the matter of that, in other professions also, that an individual is selected more from what he seems to