God help us now, sir.

Mr.
Seymour, look to the ship, sir, look to the ship!" The young officer sprang back on the horse-block, his soul filled with horror.

So fate had decided for him at last, and duty, not love, had won the mighty game.

A third broadside passed harmlessly over the ship, doing little damage, the rough weather making aiming uncertain.
Again the field-piece replied.

Seymour never turned his head in the direction of the frigate.