Let me alone: I have yet my legs and one arm. Tell the surgeon to make haste and his instruments. I know I must lose my right arm, so the sooner it's off the better.

Thank God I have done my duty. Drink, drink. Fan, fan. Rub, rub. Kiss me, Hardy.

Now I can do no more. We must trust to the Great Disposer of all events and the justice of our cause. I thank God for this opportunity of doing my duty.

I am ill every time it blows hard, and nothing but my enthusiastic love for the profession keeps me one hour at sea.

I cannot, if I am in the field of glory, be kept out of sight: wherever there is anything to be done, there Providence is sure to direct my steps.

Something must be left to chance; nothing is certain in a sea fight

Hardy, I do believe they have done it at last... my backbone is shot through.