When Owen regained his senses he found himself in a hammock in the sick
bay of the frigate, with Mike and Nat close alongside of him.
"How do you feel, Mike?" asked Nat, who had not observed that Owen was
awake.
"Mighty quare, but not sorry to find myself here. I hope Mr Hartley
will come to soon. They seem to treat him as one of us."
"He ought to be with the officers aft," said Nat. "The mate is with
them, I suppose, but I have not seen him."
"Shure he'll not fail to make himself out to be a big man somehow or
other," said Mike. "He'll be after swaring he was the captain of the
ship, although he will forget to say that it was through him that she
was cast away."
The conversation was cut short by the appearance of the surgeon, who
observed, as he glanced over the hammocks--
"I am glad to see you are coming round again, lads."
He stopped by Owen's side.
"Well, boy, how do you feel?" he inquired, in a kind tone.
"Very weak, sir," said Owen; "but all I want is food and water."
"You shall have an ample supply by-and-by, but in your present state you
must take only a little at a time."
One of the sick bay attendants brought in three small basins of broth,
from one of which the doctor fed Owen.
"Thank you, sir," said Owen, "though I think I might save you that
trouble."
"You shall be welcome to do so next time," answered the doctor, smiling.
"What rating did you hold on board the ship you belonged to?" asked the
surgeon.
"I was a passenger, although I did duty as a midshipman."
"Why, the captain described you as a ship's boy," observed the doctor.
"Arrah, shure, he'd not the captain at all, at all," exclaimed Mike,
lifting up his head; "he was first mate until the raal capt'n died. But
maybe he didn't say how the ship came to be cast away."
The doctor made no reply to the Irishman's remark. "I must see about
this," he said to himself.
Owen and his companions remained in their hammocks for a couple of days,
when they all declared themselves strong enough to get up. A large tub
was brought them to wash in, and they were supplied by the purser with a
seaman's suit apiece. Owen was thankful to put on clean clothing, as
the garments he had on when wrecked were worn completely into rags.
Thus habited, although in the dress of a common seaman, he certainly did
not look like an ordinary ship's boy. Still, he was allowed to remain
forward with his two companions. As yet they had seen nothing of Mr
Scoones, who was, they understood, occupying one of the officers' cabins
aft.
Owen found that they were on board the "Sylvia," a thirty-six gun
frigate, commanded by Captain Stanhope, on her way to Batavia. He had
reason to suspect that the sand-bank on which they had been wrecked was
further to the westward than Mr Scoones had supposed, and that had they
not been picked up they would have perished long before reaching Java.
Having now sufficiently recovered to do duty, they were placed in a
watch under the command of the second lieutenant, Mr Leigh. Owen
concluded that this was as it should be. It did not occur to him that
it would be of any use to explain who he was, and to endeavour to obtain
a better position on board. He thought it but natural that he should be
expected to work, and he was ready to do duty in any station in which he
was placed. He supposed that his friend the doctor had forgotten him,
or had not thought fit to carry out his intentions. Owen, who had been
accustomed to go aloft while on board the "Druid," soon attracted the
attention of Lieutenant Leigh by the activity and diligence with which
he performed all his duties. The lieutenant at length spoke to him.
"If you go on as you have begun, you will become a smart seaman," he
said, in a kind tone.
"Thank you, sir," answered Owen, touching his hat; "I will do my best."
"What is your name?" asked the lieutenant.
"Owen Hartley, sir."
"Owen Hartley!" repeated a tall midshipman, who was in Mr Leigh's
watch, and who was standing near. He looked hard at Owen, but said no
more.
It struck Owen, as he glanced at the midshipman, that he had seen him
somewhere before, but he could not at first recollect where it was.
He puzzled his brains for some time. At last he inquired the
midshipman's name of one of the men, pointing him out as he walked the
deck.
"That is Mr Ashurst, a sprig of nobility of some sort," was the answer.
"Take care you don't get foul of him. He carries on with a pretty high
hand when he has the chance, especially if you go away with him in a
boat, or he is in command on any occasion."
Shortly afterwards a squall was seen coming up, and the various
necessary orders were issued for the shortening of sail. The midshipmen
hurried to their posts, repeating the orders they had received. Mr
Ashurst came forward, shouting out, as he did so, to the men.
"Yes, those are the very same tones," thought Owen, and he recognised
the naval officer who, with his brother, had been thrown out of their
carriage, and whom he had assisted in getting to rights again. "His
brother called him Reginald. If this midshipman's name is the same I
shall have no doubt about the matter."
Owen had not hitherto been stationed aloft, but one of the other boys
was on the sick list.
"What are you doing on deck here, you idle young rascal?" exclaimed Mr
Ashurst. "Quick, up the rigging and help to hand the fore royal."
Owen obeyed, and flew up aloft. The lighter sails were quickly handed.
The topsails were reefed, and the crew called down; the frigate stood on
her proper course. The way Mr Ashurst addressed Owen convinced him
that he was the person he supposed.
"I will take care not to give him any cause of offence, for he is
evidently not an amiable person," thought Owen.