way through the floating wreckage, with kneeling men in the bows examining
everything they saw.

They promptly lifted me in, and from their lips I saw that they spoke to
me. But I was encased in silence and could not hear a sound.

I had long since made up my mind that if we were captured I would take my
chance as prisoner of war rather than risk being shot as a renegade or
pressed into the King's service. For it seemed to me that the chances of
being shot were considerable, since none would credit my story that I had
been five months aboard a French warship except of my own free will. And as
to the King's forced service, it was hated by all, and my own needs claimed
my first endeavours.

So I answered them in French, in a voice that thundered in my head, that
the explosion had deafened me and I could not hear a word they said. They
understood and nodded cheerfully, and went on with their search.

Out of our whole ship's company six only were saved, and not one of them
officers.

In the first moments of safety the lack of hearing had seemed to me of
small account, compared with the fact that I was still alive. But, as we
turned and made for the ship, the strange sensation of hearing only through
the feelings of the body grew upon me; the thought of perpetual silence
began to appal me. I could feel the sound of the oars in the rowlocks, and
the dash of the waves against the boat, but though I could see men's lips
moving it was all no more to me than dumb show.

They were busily cleaning the ship when we came aboard, but I could see