THE DEATH OF POOR CHICK.

Te Aroha News, Volume III, Issue 107, 20 June 1885, Page 4

THE DEATH OF POOR CHICK.

The Fleet is under steam shelling the Alexandrian forts— formidable forts they, are, armed with, heavy metal. The "Owl" has taken her station as notified to Captain Easy by the Admiral, when holding a council of war the previeus day, on board the Flagship. The "Owl" has a serious, piece of work cub out for her ; and if she manages to silence Fort before evening closes the Admiral will thank Captain Easy for ridding the fleet of a formidable opponent. The "Owl" is thickly cased with iron. Her main deck can show, twenty-eight muzzles in her broadside ports, and her tops are armed with gatlings. The ferenoon is well on the wane, but still the firing continues without intermission. The "Owl" has steamed again and again towards the fort to allow the gatlings to come within range of the Egyptian gunners; but as often as she engages the fort at close quarters, the fort's heavier metal warns the Captain that his water line is in danger. I The blue-jacketp,8tripped to their flannels, run in the guns as each flame of fire and cloud of smoke tells of the iron missile's departure from the main deck ports of the frigate, while the men aloft cheer as each broadside shows the damage it has done — stone splinters flying from off the breastworks of the fort. All along the lower decks the smoke rolls and curls, as the breeze from above blows it in board, and down through the several hatchways. The wardroom is turned into a hospital, and the wounded are lowered through the unshipped skylight on to the table below. The cheers of their comrades above come down the hatchways and through the messroom doors, bearing sounds of encouragement to the sufferers. The idlers still lower down in the cock -pits below the water line trice up the powder and shot faster when they hear the sounds of their comrades' cheers, though coming to them more iaintly from afar. Chick hears them, and his heart beats quicker — they are so different from the shouts of " Inside," to which he has been accustomed. The gunner in his canvas shoes, lowest down of all among the powder in the magazine, is told of these sounds by the man at the little round hatch ; and as he looks at his empty racks, asks his mate, " How many more rounds will those black beggars want before they are silenced V In the gunroom of the "Owl " everything looks dull and gloomy. The dirks have left their usual resting places. The pictures and the curtains which hid the duns fiom view have been taken down. The placo is redolent of gunpowder. A banging lamp sheds but a glimmer through the yellow atmosphere, and the mirrors reflect a dim light on surrounding objects. Outside in the steerage the pump-handles divide honours with the midshipmen's chests, while the fire hoses lie on the deck beside them coiled up ready to be screwed on to the pumps if necessary. These few passing notices of what might have been observed on board H.M.S. "Owl" will suffice j for the spirited and graphic descriptions of the affair from the pens of " our own correspondents " will be fresh in the memories of our readers. The fleet is anchored in the bay. Night has closed upon the evening. The forts have all been silenced by the fire of the ironclads, and the blue jackets, tired with their day's work, fill the lower deck, and talk over the day's adventures. The inmates of the gunroom of H.M.S. "Owl " are tired. They are to be seen lolling on the cushions as Mr Wortle comes in, and shouts for a " brandy and soda." No one answers. Mr Wortle shouts again, "Chick, you lazy beggar, where the d are you ?" The steward opens the little window, and tells Mr Wortle that Chick has been wounded by a shell which burst in the lower steerage. "Poor d— 1 !" said Wortle on receiving the information. Six bells are struck on the main deck. The sentry on the forecastle calls "All's well !" A midshipman goes in through the door of the sick-bay berth, where Chick is lying mortally wounded. The midshipman takes Chick's hand in his, and kneeling down beside the bed inquires how he feels. l " Going, sir," whispers the sufferer. "Has the doctor seen you this evening ?" " Just gone, sir " (uttered very faintly). " Where did it strike you ?" inquires the midshipman. Chick points to where the pieces of the shell struck him. " Much pain, Chick ?" Chick moans. The midshipman lifts him gently, and places his head in a more easy position. Chick looks at him through his filmy eyes. " Never mind, Chick, you are going to a better place than a gunroom." " Lift up higher," whispers Chick, the words coming more faintly at each utterance. "Is that you, Mr Hargraves?" said the sick-bay man coming in. "The doctor will jump down my throat if he sees you here." ' "It will be all right," returned the midshipman. - " I can't do any harm." ; " You're right there anyhow. Tne harm is done already." " Dry !" murmured Chick, The midshipman held a glass of water to his lips. "How do you feel now? You will see your j mother when you get there. The ; place isn't like a gunroom pantry." 1 "No mother r gasped Chick. Then 'wandering he mutters " Inside." "Can you eee me, Chjck T\ ' ; : , * Chick makes a movement to, pull the mid ;i , ehipman's head down' to the level of ' his ,*,' mouthV^and > whispers, " Sou never 1 "' spoke" 1 ! angfy-MLways'fcirid;" ' ; h , ' hlJUU \ -* *EkhausWa ; by thire'fforVWpVoWellbV* ! seemed to drop into a peaceful Bleep, »nd

his countenance was so placid that Hargraves stood for some time regarding him with feelings difficult to express. "Really, Mr Hargraves, you must go," eaidthe sick-bay man, again approaching the spot. " I could not help looking at Chick : he sleeps so quietly." The man's attention thus directed, he ap- 1 proached the bed, looked at Chick for a few ! moments, then placed his hand over the heart. It was the sleep of death. The little pantry window in the gunroom is closed. Chick's head will never again be seen at the opening in answer to the shouts of impatient midshipmen. Chick lies dead in the sick-bay. His toilsome journey has come to an end. Born of a woman — that's a certainty; left on a dqorstep— that's a fact; reared in a parish workhouse; entered on the books of a training ship, and afterwards sent to sea, Chick became the property of the members of the gunroom mess of H.M.S. "Owl." Chick never looked so happy in all the days of his short life on board the " Owl " as when the midshipmen left him lying dead in the sick-bay.