out of his eyes; still, he had staggered down the steps to the waist,
and, recovering his strength from the excitement, threw himself into
the fray.

Scarce had he done so, when a sailor next to him fell heavily against
him, shot through the head by one of the Dutch soldiers. Cyril
staggered, and before he could recover himself, a Dutch sailor struck
at his head. He threw up his sword to guard the blow, but the guard
was beaten down as if it had been a reed. It sufficed, however,
slightly to turn the blow, which fell first on the side of the head,
and then, glancing down, inflicted a terrible wound on the shoulder.

He fell at once, unconscious, and, when he recovered his senses,
found himself laid out on the poop, where Sydney, assisted by two of
the other gentlemen, had carried him. His head and shoulder had
already been bandaged, the Prince having sent for his doctor to come
up from below to attend upon him.

The battle was raging with undiminished fury all round, but, for the
moment, the _Henrietta_ was not engaged, and her crew were occupied
in cutting away the wreckage of the mizzen-mast, and trying to repair
the more important of the damages that she had suffered. Carpenters
were lowered over the side, and were nailing pieces of wood over the
shot-holes near the water-line. Men swarmed aloft knotting and
splicing ropes and fishing damaged spars.

Sydney, who was standing a short distance away, at once came up to
him.

"How are you, Cyril?"