[Mother Carey’s Chicken by George Manville Fenn]@TWC D-Link book
Mother Carey’s Chicken

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
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CHAPTER EIGHTEEN.
HOW THE MAJOR GAVE HIS ADVICE.
As the major and Captain Strong hurried into the ladies' cabin on the cessation of the fighting it was to find them all ready, even to Mary, with bandages and pieces of linen to staunch the blood and help the poor fellows who had been wounded in their service; while as soon as Mark found that his services were no longer required as distributor of ammunition, he got together refreshments, and without being told handed them round to the wearied and bleeding sailors.
The food and the kindly words of sympathy they received seemed to put heart into the men, who had been ready to give up as soon as the rage and excitement of the fighting was over, but now they strung themselves up and patted their bandages, as if proud of having received them in the ladies' defence; though as the men grew more cheery the captain grew more serious.
"We shall have hard work to get through this afternoon," he said to the major, who lit a cigar and smoked as coolly as if there were no pirates for a hundred miles.
"No, you will not," was the blunt reply.
"Why, the savage wretches are swarming upon the decks," said the captain.
"Yes; but this afternoon is already gone.

We shall have darkness soon." "Gone! Why, it is five bells!" "Yes, sir; fighting takes time.

I say, how the smoke has cleared away!" "Yes; it is less choking now," said the captain thoughtfully; and he went slowly to where Gregory was waiting and watching still for an attack upon the boat.
The captain said nothing further for some few minutes, and then returned to Morgan, who was very silent, and evidently weak and in great pain.
Here he had a long discussion, and as Mark watched him wonderingly, trying the while to make out what steps his father would take next, the captain went slowly to where the major was talking calmly enough to Mrs O'Halloran and his child.
"Nonsense!" he was saying; "there is no such a fine bit of Latin anywhere as nil desperandum.

You never know what course a battle may take.

Old Nap thought he had won Waterloo; but he had not.


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