protest against some affront, which he suspected, to his professional
career. The exact circumstances of the case cannot be now discovered,
but it may be readily conjectured that the formalism of official
courtesy did not match with the Captain's taste, and that the necessity
for self-control on his own part had irritated his resentment. The First
Lord expressed his regret at having wounded a distinguished officer, and
bestowed on him a good service pension.

It may be said that the pension came too late, if indeed it would at any
time have been particularly serviceable. Marryat was now engaged in that
melancholy chase for health which generally augurs the beginning of the
end. He had ruptured two blood vessels, and was in great danger from the
constitutional weakness which had first attacked him as a young
lieutenant in the West Indies. He moved to his mother's house in order
to consult the London doctors. A mild climate was recommended, and he
went down to Hastings, where the news of his son's death destroyed his
own chances of recovery. After about a month's trial of Brighton, he
came back to the London doctors who told him that "in six months he
would be numbered with his forefathers."

He went home to Langham to die. Through the summer of 1848 he lingered
on, "in the 'room of a thousand columns,' with the mimic sky, and birds,
and flowers, above and around him, where he chose to lie upon a
mattress, placed on the ground, and there, almost in darkness, often in
pain, and without occupation, he lay--cheerful and uncomplaining, and at
times even humorous." His daughters frequently read aloud to him, and he
always asked for fresh flowers. At the last he became delirious, though
continuing to dictate pages of talk and reflection. On the morning of
August 9th, 1848, he expired in perfect quiet.