According to the usual custom on the occasion of a great victory, the pensioners had, on the following day, what was called a holiday, that is, a day of rejoicing, on which they were supplied with an extra quantity of beer, to make merry with.  On these occasions the rules of the hospital, with respect to sobriety, are, of course, not strictly observed.  Most of those who prefer smoking collect in what is called the smoking-room, where they sit and enjoy themselves; but very often, as there is so much noise on these occasions, those who belong to the same ward collect together, club for some spirits to add to their extra allowance, and sit by the fire, which is in the corridor of the ward.  The fireplace is generally a very large one, and surrounded by benches with high backs, to serve as screens against the cold and wind; and, as there are tables inside, you are very snug and comfortable.  On this occasion many of the Warriors’ Ward, of which Anderson was boatswain, and Ben one of the boatswain’s mates, had repaired to their own fire, for it was now October, and very chilly after the sun went down.

Ben, I suppose, in return for the pot of porter which I had given him, invited me to be of the party; they drank the health of Nelson, and talked about the different ships which were in the action.  Some drank very fast, and then reeled off to their beds, which were close at hand; others were taken to bed by Peter Anderson and Ben; and at last there were but four or five left.  One of these was the other boatswain’s mate of the ward.  I knew very little of him at that time, except that his name was James Turner.  He was a very quiet well-behaved man, and seemed to be more fond of sitting or walking alone than of being in company; never was known to drink too much; and, indeed, as boatswain’s mate, was more relied upon by Anderson than even Ben was—­although, perhaps, Ben was his more constant companion.  The conversation relative to the particulars of the battle of the Nile was resumed, and Anderson observed—­

“What an awful sight it must have been to behold the blowing up of the ‘L’Orient’ French three-decker, with upward of a thousand men on board!  Merciful Heaven! so many poor fellows launched into eternity in one moment!  They say there were but seventy-three saved.”

“There were nearly as many souls lost when the ‘Royal George’ went down at Spithead, with all the fleet at anchor round about her,” replied Ben; “were there not, Turner, for you were on board of her?”

     “Yes, I should think there were,” replied Turner; “but it is
     impossible to say how many people were on board at the time.”

“Messmate,” said Anderson, “as all the noisy ones are gone, and we shall be able to hear you, suppose that you let us know all about it?  I have heard a good deal, but, I suspect, not the rights of it.”

     “With all my heart,” replied Turner.  “It was a sad affair, and was
     all owing to the pride of an officer, who was not much of a sailor,
     at all events.”