Fitz the Filibuster Part 13

"Oh!" groaned Fitz excitedly.

"I am being very plain to you, my lad, now that the cat's out of the bag, and there's nothing to hide. I am playing a dangerous game, one full of risk. It began when I was informed upon by some cowardly, dirty-minded scoundrel, one who no doubt had been taking my pay till he thought he could get no more, and then he split upon me, with the result that your captain was put upon the scent of my enterprise, to play dog and run me down in the dark. But you see I had one eye open, and got away. Now I suppose the telegraph will have been at work, and the folks over yonder will be waiting for me there, so that I shall have to hang about and wait my chance of communicating with my friends. So there, you see, you will have to wait one, two, perhaps three months, before, however good my will, I can do anything for you."

"But by that time," cried Fitz, "I shall be disgraced."

"Bah! Nonsense, my lad! There can be no disgrace for one who boarded a vessel along with his crew, and had the bad luck to be struck down.

Now, my boy, you know I'm a father. Let me speak like a father to you.

Your real trouble is this, and I say honestly I am sorry, and so's Poole there, not so much for you as for your poor relatives. There, it's best I should speak quite plainly. It's as well to know the worst that can have happened, and then it generally proves to have been not so bad; and that's what clever folks call philosophy. The real trouble in your case is this, that by this time your poor relatives will probably know that your number has been wiped off your mess; in short, you have been reported--dead."

"What!" cried the boy, in a tone full of anguish. "They will have sent word home that I am dead?"

"I am afraid so," said the skipper. "It's very sad, but you have got to bear it like a man."

"Sad!" cried the boy pa.s.sionately. "It's horrible! It will break her heart!"

"You mean your mother's," said the skipper gravely, and he laid his hand kindly on the boy's shoulder. "But it's not so bad as you think, my lad. I have had a little experience of women in my time--wives and mothers, boy--and there's a little something that generally comes to them in cases like this and whispers in their poor ears. That little something, my boy, is always very kind to us sea-going people, and it's called Hope. And somehow at such times as this it makes women think that matters can't be so bad as they have been described, or that they can't be true. Now I'd be ready to say that in spite of the bad news that's come to your mother about you, she won't believe it's true, and that she's waiting patiently for the better news that will some time come, and that it will be many, many months, perhaps a year, before she will really believe that you are dead."

"Oh, but it's too horrible!" cried the boy wildly.

"No, no, no. Come! Pluck up your spirits and make the best of it.

Look here, boy. You must bear it for the sake of the greater pleasure, the joy that will come when she finds that she was right in her belief, and in the surprise to all your friends when they see you come back alive and kicking, and all the better for your voyage. I say, look at the bright side of things, and think how much better it has all been than if you had been knocked overboard to go down in the darkness at a time when it was every one for himself, and no one had a thought for you."

Fitz turned away his head so that neither father nor son could see the workings of his face.

"There, my lad," said the skipper, rising, "I was obliged to speak out plainly. I have hurt you, I know, but it has only been like the surgeon, to do you good. I am wanted on deck now, so take my advice; bear it like a man. Here, Poole, I want you for half-an-hour or so, and I dare say Mr Burnett would like to have a bit of a think to himself."

He gave the boy a warm pressure of his hand, and then strode out of the cabin, his example being followed the next moment by Poole, whose action was almost the same as his father's, the exception being that he quickly caught hold of the middy's hand and held it for a moment before he hurried out.

Then and then only did Fitz's face go down upon his hands, while a low groan of misery escaped his lips.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

MAKING FRIENDS.

"Well, what is it?" said the skipper gruffly, as his son followed him on deck and touched him on the arm.

"Don't you think it possible, father, that--"

"That I could turn aside from what I have got to do, boy? No, I don't."

"But he's ill and weak, father."

"Of course he is, and he's getting better as fast as he can. What's more, he's a boy--in the depth of despair now, and in half-an-hour's time he'll be himself again, and ready to forget his trouble."

"I don't think he will, father."

"Don't you? Then I do. I have had more experience of boys than you have, and I have learned how Nature in her kindness made them. Look here, Poole, I believe for the time that boys feel trouble more keenly than do men, but Nature won't let it last. The young twig will bend nearly double, and spring up again. The old stick snaps."

The skipper walked away, leaving his son thinking.

"I don't believe father's right," he said. "Fitz doesn't seem like most boys that I have met. Poor chap, it does seem hard! I don't think I ever felt so bad as he must now. I wish I hadn't had to come away, for it was only an excuse on father's part. He doesn't want me. It was only to leave the poor chap alone."

Acting upon these thoughts, Poole tried to think out some excuse for going down to the cabin again as soon as he could. But as no reasonable excuse offered itself, he waited till the half-hour was expired, and then went down without one, opened the cabin-door gently, and gravely stepped in, to stop short, staring in astonishment at the change which had come over his patient, for he was sitting bent down with his hands upon his knees at the edge of his berth, swinging his legs to and fro, with every trace of suffering gone out of the eyes which looked up sharply.

If Poole Reed was surprised at the midshipman's appearance, he was far more so at his tones and words.

"Hallo!" he cried. "Thought you'd gone to fetch those fishing-lines."

"I--I--Oh, yes, I'll get them directly," stammered Poole.

"Look sharp, then. The fish are playing about here like fun. I saw one spring right out of the water just now after a shoal. The little ones look like silver, and the big chap was all blue and gold."

"All right; I won't be long," cried Poole, and he hurried out, letting the door bang behind him.

"Well, I was a fool to worry myself about a chap like that. Why, he doesn't feel it a bit."

But Poole Reed was not a good judge of human nature. He could not see the hard fight that was going on behind that eager face, nor how the well-trained boy had called upon his pride to carry him through this struggle with his fate.

Poole thought no more of his patient's condition, but hurried to the boatswain, who scowled at him fiercely.

"What!" he said. "Fishing-lines? Can't you find nothing else to do, young fellow, on board this 'ere craft, besides fishing?"

"No; there is nothing to do now."

"Wha-a-at!"

"You know I spoke about them before. It is to amuse the sick middy."

"Yah!" came in a deep growl. "Why didn't you say so before? Poor boy!

He did get it hot that time."

"Yes," said Poole maliciously, "and I believe it was you who knocked him down."

The grim-looking, red-faced boatswain stared at the speaker with his mouth wide open.

"Me?" he said. "Me? Why, I was alongside the chap at the wheel."

"Were you?" said Poole, grinning to himself at the effect of his words.

"Then it couldn't have been you, b.u.t.ters. Come on and get me the line."

"Gammon!" growled the boatswain. "You knew it warn't all the time.

Come on."

He led the way to his locker and took out a couple of square reel-frames with their cord, hooks, and sinkers complete.

"Ketch hold," he said gruffly, and then giving Poole a tin box which rattled loudly, he growled out, "Plenty of spare hooks in there. But don't lose more than you can help. Where are you going to fish? Off the taffrail?"