"Stand by! D'y' hear? Steady, my lads! None of that 'ere! Grinning like a set of Cheshire cats! What have you got to sneer at? My word!

My word! And a boy like that! That's what I call genuine British pluck! What a hofficer he'd make!"

"Ay, ay!" cried the carpenter. "Right you are. All together, lads! He is the right sort! Three cheers!"

They were given, with the boatswain pining in, and Fitz winced as he heard them down by the cabin-door; but he was himself again directly, for there was no jarring note of derision in the sound.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A MISS-FIRE.

Fitz Burnett felt the next moment as if it would be easier to do that which had never fallen to his lot--board with an excited crew an enemy's ship, as he stood there for a few brief moments at the cabin-door listening to the heavy breathing and movements of the skipper, sounds which he knew meant that he was being helped back into his berth. For the cabin-door had swung to, and he could see nothing of that which was pa.s.sing within.

But the task had to be done, and the men's cheer, rightly interpreted, seemed to have heartened him up, so that feeling more himself, he waited till he heard a heavy sigh of relief which told its own tale, and then giving the door a thrust, he stepped into the little cabin, to face its owner lying extended upon his back.

Seeing Poole standing by his father's head, facing him, he waited motionless for a few moments.

"Hah! That's better!" sighed the skipper. "Get me the quinine-bottle out of the chest, my boy. This fever has made me as weak as a rat."

Poole moved to one of the lockers at once, leaving the way clear for his father to see the young midshipman where he stood; and the boy set his teeth as the skipper's fierce fiery eyes seemed to look him through and through.

"Now for it," thought Fitz, as he held his breath. "What will he say?"

He was not long kept in doubt, for the skipper spoke at once, not with some furious denunciation, not with mocking contempt of the childish effort of which the lad had been the hero, but in a quiet, easy-going tone, strangely contrasted with the fierce look in his eyes.

"Oh, there you are, my lad," he said. "Do you see what work these tropic fevers can make of a strong man? Why, if you had only had me to deal with you would have had it all your own way. There, come and sit down, and let's have a palaver."

"I can stand, sir, thank you," said the boy coldly, "and you needn't exert yourself to talk. I know all that you would say, and I confess at once that I have failed. But," he added excitedly, "I am not sorry, not a bit. I felt it my was duty under the circ.u.mstances, and I feel now that I might have succeeded, and that it would have been right."

"Of course you do," said the skipper quietly. "But there, come and sit down here, all the same. That's right. We can talk more easily now.

One moment; just open that window a little wider. This place is like an oven, and I want cool air.--Hah! That's better."

He lay with his head thrown back and his eyelids half-closed.

"Well," he said at last, good-humouredly, and with a smile beginning to play about his rugged face, with the effect of sending a thrill of anger through the boy's frame, as he flashed out furiously--

"Don't laugh at me, sir! Put me in irons; punish me as much as you like; but don't jeer at me. I can't bear that."

"Steady, my boy, steady!" said the skipper quietly. "You must cool down now. Why, Burnett, my lad, you had better furl up all your romantic sails and let's talk like men. I am not going to put you in irons, I am not going to punish you. What nonsense! Why, when I was your age and just as thoughtless, if I had been placed in your position I might likely enough have tried on just such a trick. It will be a lesson for you to follow out the old proverb, 'Look before you leap.' You can't see it now, but some day I have no doubt that you will feel that it was a mad idea, attempted because you didn't know the people among whom you had been cast, nor thought it out so as to see how impossible it all was for a boy like you--a lad like you, single-handed, but with all a man's pluck, and even unarmed, to make yourself master of my little craft. It was rather a big venture to make, my lad; don't you think it was?"

"No, sir," said the lad firmly. "I had something else behind me."

"What, the belief that my lads only wanted a leader to turn against me?"

"No, sir; that I was backed up, as an officer of the Queen, by the whole power of the law."

"Oh, I see," said the skipper. "Yes. Exactly. That's all very big and grand, and it might act sometimes and in some places, and especially when there are men well-armed to back it up as well; but if you had thought it out, my lad, I think you would have seen that it could have had no chance here.--Oh, that my dose, Poole? Half or full?" he continued, as he raised his hand to take a little silver mug which his son had brought.

"Only half, father," replied the lad. "You had a full dose just before you went to sleep."

"To be sure; so I did," said the skipper, whose hand was trembling as he took the cup.--"It's of no use to ask you to drink with me, Mr Burnett?"

Fitz shook his head.

"No, I suppose not," continued the skipper; "but we are going to be good friends, all the same."

Fitz watched the sick man as he drained the cup.

"Ah! Bitter stuff! If you just think of the bitterest thing you ever tasted and multiply it by itself, square it, as we used to call it at school, you would only come near to the taste of this. But it's not a nasty bitter, sickly and nauseous and all that, but a bitter that you can get almost to like in time.--Thank you, Poole," and he handed back the cup. "It makes me feel better at once. Nasty things, these fevers, Squire Burnett, and very wonderful too that a man, a strong man, should be going about hale and hearty in these hot countries, and then breathe in something all at once that turns him up like this. And then more wonderful still that the savage people lower down yonder in South America--higher up, I ought to say, for it was the folk amongst the mountains--should have found out a shrub whose bark would kill the fever poison and make a man himself again. They say--put the cup away, Poole--that wherever a poisonous thing grows there's another plant grows close at hand which will cure the ill it does, bane and antidote, my lad, stinging-nettles and dock at home, you know. I don't know that it holds quite true, but I do know that there are fevers out here, and quinine acts as a cure. But there's one thing I want to know, and it's this, how in the name of all that's wonderful these South American people first found it out."

Fitz looked at him in a puzzled way. "What does he mean," he thought, "by wandering off into a lecture like this?" The skipper smiled at him as if he read his thoughts. "Hah!" he said. "I am beginning to feel better now. The shivers are going off. Not such a bad doctor, am I?

You see, one always carries a medicine-chest, but one has to learn how to use it, and I have been obliged to pick up a few things. I shouldn't be at all surprised some day if I have to doctor you for something more than a crack on the head. Look here, Poole," he continued, with a broad, good-humoured smile crossing his features, "come into consultation. What do you think? Our friend here is a bit too hot-blooded. Do you think he need be bled? No, no; don't flush up like that, my lad. It was only my joke. There," he cried, holding out his hand, which had ceased to tremble--"shake. I'll never allude to it again. You did rather a foolish thing, but it is all over now--dead and buried, and we are going to be just as good friends as we were before, for I like you, my lad, none the less for the stuff of which you are made--the pluck you have shown. But take my advice; don't attempt anything of the kind again. Fate has put you into this awkward position. Be a man, and make the best of it. Some day or other you will be able to say good-bye to us and go back to your ship, feeling quite contented as to having done your duty. Come now, let's shake hands and begin again."

He held out his hand once more, and after a moment's hesitation, Fitz, who dared not trust himself to speak, placed his own within it, to have it held in a firm, warm pressure for some moments before it was released.

"There," said the skipper, smiling, "I am coming out in a nice soft perspiration now, and I feel as if that bit of excitement has done me good. Here, Poole, I'm tired, and I think that I can sleep and wake up better. Burnett, my lad, perhaps you would like to stay below the rest of the day.--Poole, mix Mr Burgess a dose. You know how many grains.

Tell him I can't come to him myself, and see that he takes it. It's my orders, mind. These attacks are sharp but short. I'm half asleep already. Oh, by the way--"

He stopped short, drawing a heavy breath.

"By the way, I--"

He was silent again.

"I--Poole."

"Yes, father," said the lad softly.

"Are you there?"

"Yes, father."

The boys exchanged glances.

"I--I think--Hah!"

The skipper was fast asleep.

The two lads remained silent for a few moments, watching the sleeper, and then Poole looked full in his companion's eyes and slowly took out the revolver which he had thrust into his breast, before raising the hammer and bringing the cartridge-extractor to bear so that one after another the charges were thrust out, each to fall with a soft tap upon the cabin-table, after which the chambers were carefully wiped out, and the weapon put back into a holster close to the head of the berth, the cartridges being dropped into the little pouch attached to the belt.

When all was done, steadily watched by Fitz the while, Poole raised his eyes to his companion once again.

"Shall we do as you and father did just now?" he asked.

"Yes," said Fitz slowly and sadly, "if you will."

"Will?--Of course!"