Fitz Burnett slept on during the greatest part of that day and most of
the next; each time that he woke up he seemed better, and ready for the
food that he had missed for so long and which was now so carefully
prepared for him.
Very little had been said; the skipper's son attended upon him
assiduously, and was ready to enter into conversation, but his advances
were met so shortly and snappishly, that he soon contented himself with
playing the nurse seriously, while the invalid frowned and kept his eyes
fixed upon the sea through the open cabin-window, rarely glancing at his
attendant at all.
It was on the fourth day after the lad had recovered his senses and
learned the truth of his position, that Poole made a remark about this
change in their passenger to his father, who had come into the cabin to
find the midshipman fast asleep.
"Is it right, father, that he should sleep so much?" said the lad.
"Certainly. He's getting on fast. Let him sleep as much as he can.
His wound is growing together again as quickly as it can. Can't you see
how much better he is?"
"Well, I thought I could, dad," was the reply; "but every now and then I
think he's getting worse."
"Eh? What makes you think that, lad? Does he begin to mope for his
liberty?"
"I dare say he does, dad. It's only natural; but that isn't what I
meant. What I thought was that though he seemed rather nice at first,
he keeps on growing more and more disagreeable. He treats me sometimes
just as if I were a dog."
"Well, you always were a precious young puppy, Poole," said the skipper,
with a twinkle of the eye.--"Ah! No impudence now! If you dare to say
that it's no wonder when I am such a rough old sea-dog, I'll throw
something at you."
"Then it won't be thrown," said the lad, laughing. "But really, father,
he is so stuck up and consequential sometimes, ordering me about, and
satisfied with nothing I do, that it makes me feel peppery and ready to
tell him that if he isn't satisfied he'd better do the things himself."
"Bah! Don't take any notice of him, boy. It's all a good sign, and
means he's getting well fast."
"Well, it's not a very pleasant way of showing it, father."
"No, my boy, no; but we can't very well alter what is. Fellows who have
been ill, and wounded men when they are taking a right turn, are weak,
irritable, and dissatisfied. I think you'll find him all right by and
by. Take it all calmly. He's got something to suffer, poor fellow,
both mentally and from that hurt upon his head. Well, I'll go back on
deck. I did come down to examine and dress his sconce again, but I'll
leave that till another time."
He had hardly spoken before Fitz opened his eyes with a start, saw who
was present, and turned pettishly away.
"Oh, it's you, doctor, is it?" he said. "I wish you wouldn't be always
coming in here and bothering and waking me up. What do you want now?"
"I was only coming to bathe and re-plaster your head, squire," replied
the bluff skipper good-humouredly.
Fitz gave himself an angry snatch round, and fixed his eyes frowningly
upon the speaker.
"Look here," he said, "let's have no more of that, if you please. Have
the goodness to keep your place, sir. If you don't know that you have a
gentleman on board, please to learn it now, and have the goodness to be
off and take that clumsy oaf with you. I want to sleep."
"Certainly," said the skipper quietly, and his son gave him a wondering
look. "But as I am here I may as well see to your head. It is quite
time it was done again."
"Look here," cried Fitz, "am I to speak again? I told you to go. When
I want my head bandaged again I will send you word."
"All right, my lad," said the skipper good-humouredly.
"All right, _what_?" cried Fitz. "Will you have the goodness to keep
this familiar way of speaking to people of your own class!"
"Oh, certainly," said the skipper. "Very well, then; send for me when
you feel disposed to have it dressed; and I'll tell you what, you can
let Poole wait till the cool of the evening, and he can bathe it and do
it then."
"Bah!" cried the lad angrily. "Is it likely I am going to trust myself
in his clumsy hands? There, stop and do it now, as I am awake. Here,
stop, get some fresh cool water and hold the basin. Pish! I mean that
nasty tin-bowl."
Poole got what was necessary without a word, and then stood by while the
injury was carefully bathed and bandaged, the patient not uttering a
single word of thanks, but submitting with the worst of graces, and just
giving his doctor a condescending nod when with a word of congratulation
the latter left the cabin.
There was profound silence then, saving a click or two and a rustle as
Poole put the various things away, Fitz lying back on his pillow and
watching him the while, till at last he spoke, in an exacerbating way--
"Here, you sir, was that doctor, skipper, or whatever he calls himself,
trained before he came to sea?"
Poole flushed and remained silent.
"Did you hear what I said, boy?" cried Fitz.
"Yes," was the short reply, resentfully given.
"Yes, _sir_. Impudent scoundrel! Do you know whom you are addressing?
_Sir_ to an officer in Her Majesty's service, whatever his rank."
"Oh, yes, I know whom I am talking to."
"Yes, _sir_, you oaf! Where are your manners? Is that fellow a
surgeon?"
"No; he is captain of this ship."
"Ship! Captain!" sneered the boy, in a contemptuous tone which made his
listener writhe. "Why, it's a trading schooner, isn't it?"
Poole was about to speak out sharply, when a glance at the helpless
condition of the speaker disarmed him, and he said quietly--
"Oh, yes, of course it's a trading schooner, but it was originally a
gentleman's yacht, and sails like one."
"Indeed!" said the boy sneeringly. "And pray whose is it?"
Poole looked at him open-eyed as if expecting to see him suffering from
a little deliriousness again; but as no sign was visible he merely said
quietly--
"My father's."
"And pray who's your father?"
Poole looked at him again, still in doubt.
"That is."
"Oh!"
There was silence for a few moments, before Fitz turned himself wearily
and said in a careless, off-hand tone--
"And what's the name of the craft?"
"The _Silver Teal_."
"Silver Eel--eh? What a ridiculously slippery name for a boat!"
"_Silver Teal_," said Poole emphatically.
"Silver Grandmother! A nice set you must be to give your gimcrack craft
such a name as that! But you may take my word for it that as soon as
ever you are caught in your slippery eel you will all either be hung or
go to penal servitude for life--though perhaps you'll be let off, as you
are nothing better than a boy."
"Oh yes, I am only a boy," said Poole, rather bitterly; "but the _Silver
Teal_, or Silver Eel as you call it, has to be caught yet. Your people
did not make a very grand affair of it the other night."
"Pooh! That's only because one of our stupid fellows who had been on
the watch the night before dropped to sleep. They'll soon have you.
You'll have the _Tonans_ thundering on your heels before you know where
you are. I am expecting to hear her guns every minute."
"That's quite possible," said Poole quietly; "but our little schooner
will take some catching, I can tell you."
"So you think," said Fitz, "but you in your ignorance don't know
everything. You only sail, and what's the use of that against steam?
Just let our gunboat be after you in a calm, and then where are you
going to be?"
"I don't know, and I don't think it's worth while to argue about it when
we are out here in mid-ocean, and I suppose your gunboat is hanging
about somewhere off the port of Liverpool. But look here, hadn't you
better take father's advice and not talk so much? I don't mind what you
say to me, and it doesn't hurt a bit, but you are rather weak yet, and
after all you have gone through I shouldn't like to see you go back
instead of forward. Why not have another nap?"
Fitz gave a contemptuous sniff, held his tongue as if his companion in
the cabin were not worthy of notice, and lay perfectly still gazing out
to sea, but with his face twitching every now and then as he lay
thinking with all his might about some of the last words Poole had said
connected with the possibility of the gunboat being so far away, and he
alone and helpless among these strangers, his spirits sank. How was it
all going to end? he thought. What a position to be in! The skipper
had said something about putting him aboard some vessel, or ashore;--but
how or when? The position seemed hopeless in the extreme, and the poor
weak lad thought and thought till his tired brain began to grow dizzy
and ache violently, when kindly Nature led him to the temporary way out
of the weary trouble which tortured him, and he fell fast asleep.