The wind was paradoxical. A succession of calms and light breezes from
adverse quarters--in short, as bad as could be for the schooner's
expedition.
But, on the other hand, the days grew into weeks in a climate that might
be called absolutely perfect, and from his first coming on deck and
helping in the capture of the bonito, Fitz Burnett advanced by steps
which became long strides on his journey back to health.
With the disappearance of suffering, away went all bad temper with the
irritation that had caused it. The boy had lain in his berth and
thought every night before going to sleep about his position and his
helplessness, and had fully come to the conclusion that though the
people among whom he was, skipper, officers and men, were in a way
enemies, he could not be held accountable for anything they did, and as
they had treated him throughout with the greatest kindness, it would be
ungracious on his part to go, as he termed it, stalking about on stilts
and making himself as disagreeable to them as he would be to himself.
"Old Reed's quite right, after all," he said, "though I don't like it a
bit. I must make the best of my position. But only let me get half a
chance, and I shall be off."
The boy then, as he rapidly recovered his strength, went about the deck
amongst the men, and became what he termed extremely thick with Poole.
There were times when he felt that they were becoming great friends, for
Poole was a thoroughly intelligent lad who had had a good deal of
experience for one of his years; but in these early stages of his
recovery, so sure as there was a little change in the weather, with the
damp or wind, twinges of pain and depression of spirits attacked the
midshipman; the physical suffering introduced the mental, and for a few
hours perhaps Fitz would feel, to use his own words, as disagreeable as
could be.
It was during one of these attacks that the idea came back very strongly
that he was not doing his duty as an officer. He worked himself up into
the feeling that he was behaving in a cowardly way now that he had great
opportunities, and that if he did not seize one of these it would be to
his disgrace.
"I ought to do it," he said, "and I will. It only wants pluck, for I
have got right on my side. It is almost as good as having the gunboat
and her crew at my back. It's one of those chances such as we read of
in history, where one fellow steps out to the front and carries all
before him. I did not see it so clearly before as I do now. That's
what I ought to do, and I am going to do it. Poole will think it
abominably ungrateful, and his father will be horribly wild; but I have
got my duty to do, and it must be done, so here goes."
But "here" did not go, for on second thoughts matters did not seem quite
so clear; but a day or two after, when the notion had been steadily
simmering in his mind it seemed at last to be quite done, and shutting
his eyes to all suggestions regarding impossibility or madness, he made
his plunge.
Fitz was not well. The weather had grown intensely hot, and
unconsciously he was suffering from a slight touch of fever, which he
complained about to Poole, who explained to him what it was, after
reference to his father, and came back to him with a tiny packet of
white crystals in some blue paper, and instructions that he was to take
the powder at once.
"Fever, is it?" said Fitz, rather sourly. "One couldn't be catching
fever out here in the open sea. I shall see your father myself. Why
didn't he come on deck yesterday?"
"Because he isn't well. He's got a touch of fever too. He had got the
bottle out of the medicine-chest, and was taking a dose when I went into
his cabin."
"What!" cried Fitz. "Then he's caught the fever too?"
"Oh no; he caught it years ago, on the Mosquito Coast, and now and then
when we get in for a change of weather like we have just had, it breaks
out again and he's very ill for a few days; but he soon comes round."
"But I was never on the Mosquito Coast," cried Fitz impatiently. "I
never caught a fever there, and I couldn't catch one like that of your
father."
"No," said Poole; "father was talking about it, and he said yours was a
touch due to your being susceptible after being so much hurt. That's
how he said it was. Now then, come down to the cabin and take your
physic like a good boy."
"I am not going to do anything of the sort," said Fitz shortly. "I took
plenty while I was ill and weak, and you could do what you liked with
me. But I am strong enough now, and if what I feel is due to the
weather, when it changes the trouble will soon go off."
"I dare say it will," said Poole, laughing; "but you needn't make a fuss
about swallowing this little scrap of bitter powder. Come on and take
it like a man."
"Don't bother," said Fitz shortly, and he walked away right into the
bows, climbed out on to the bowsprit, and sat down to think.
"He's a rum chap," said Poole, as he stood watching him, and putting the
powder back into his pocket. "He makes me feel as if I liked and could
do anything for him sometimes, and then when he turns cocky I begin to
want to punch his head."
Poole turned and went down into the cabin, where his father was lying in
his berth looking flushed and weary, and evidently suffering a good
deal.
"Well, boy," said the skipper; "did he take his dose?"
"No, father. He's ready to kick against everything now."
"Well," said the skipper shortly, "let him kick."
Fitz was already kicking as he sat astride the bowsprit, looking out to
sea and talking excitedly to himself.
"Yes," he said, "I like them, and we have got to be very good friends;
but I have got my duty to do as a Queen's officer, and do it I will.
Why, it's the very chance. Like what people call a fatality. That's
right, I think. Just as if it were made on purpose. Of course I know
that I am only a boy--well, a good big boy, almost a man; but I am a
Queen's officer, and if I speak to the men it is in the Queen's name.
And look at them too. They are not like ordinary sailors. I have not
been on board this schooner and mixing with them and talking to them all
this time for nothing. It was plain enough at first, and I was nearly
sure, but I made myself quite. Nearly every one of them has been at
some time or other in the Royal Navy--men who have served their time,
and then been got hold of by the skipper to sign and serve on board his
craft. They are a regular picked crew of good seamen fit to serve on
board any man-of-war, and I wonder they haven't been kept. They weren't
all trained for nothing. See how well they obey every order, as smart
as smart. That means training and recollecting the old discipline.
Why, if I talk to them right they won't stop to think that I am only a
middy. I shall speak to them as an officer, and it will come natural to
them to obey--in the Queen's name. It is my duty too as an officer, and
as an officer it means everything--midshipman, lieutenant, captain or
admiral--an admiral is only an officer, and at a time like this I am
equal to an admiral--well, say captain. I don't care, I'll do it.--All
these rough plucky chaps of course wouldn't be afraid of me as a boy;
they'd laugh at me. Of course I know that; but it will be the officer
speaking--yes, the officer."
The middy's head began metaphorically to swell out until it seemed to
grow very big indeed, making him feel quite a man--and more.
"Yes," he said, "I'll do it. I must do it. Now's the time, and I
should be an idiot if I neglected such a chance."
Drawing a deep breath, he turned his head slowly, and assuming as
careless a manner as he could command, he looked back inboard beneath
the swelling sails, to see that several of the men were lying asleep in
the shade, while others were smoking and chatting together. The
boatswain was not visible, and the mate was apparently below, the after
part of the vessel being vacant save that the man at the wheel was
standing with outstretched hands resting upon the spokes, moving his
lower jaw slowly as he worked at his succulent quid.
Poole was still below with his father in the cabin, so that to the
middy's way of thinking he had the deck to himself. He took another
deep breath, and with his heart beating heavily, swung himself round,
laid hold of a rope, and climbed inboard again, when assuming a
nonchalance he did not feel as he dropped upon the deck, he thrust his
hands into his pockets, mastered the desire to run, and beginning to
whistle, stalked slowly aft till he reached the companion-hatch, and
began to descend the steps without a sound.
Now was the critical time, for as he went down he could see that the
cabin-door was shut, and hear the dull burr, burr, burr-like murmur of
the captain's voice talking to his son.
Half-way down Fitz stopped short, for he heard a movement as if Poole
were crossing the cabin, and if he came out now the opportunity was
gone.
The middy felt the sensation as of a spasm attacking his chest, and as
he paused there, half suffocated, he trembled with anger against himself
for losing such a chance; but the sound within the cabin ceased, the
captain's voice went murmuring on once more, and the suffocating
sensation passed away, leaving the boy ready to seize his opportunity,
and quick as thought he descended the last few steps, paused at the
cabin-entry, and raising his hand quickly and silently, secured the
outer door.