“Oh, I’m as grateful as anything, of course, Jack; not only on my own account, but because as an out-and-out patriot I have the best interests of my country at heart. What an irreparable loss it would have been to Great Britain if my brains had bespattered the battle-field! National mourning for a fortnight, eh, and messages to my bereaved relatives from the Queen and the other members of the royal family, to say nothing of minute guns, half-mast flags, and a tomb near Nelson’s in the crypt of St. Paul’s? By Jove! it makes me quite excited to think of it.”
“Has Grant ordered you any soothing draught?” I asked, hunting about with pretended anxiety amongst a whole brigade of medicine-bottles that stood upon a table at my elbow.
“Yes; Mother Gimcrack’s soothing syrup!” said my chum with a laugh. “Good for teething babes; and do you know, Jack”—this very solemnly—“I lost two or three of my front teeth in that nasty somersault I took yesterday. My beauty is gone for ever and ever!”
I had noticed the disfigurement my friend referred to, but had not alluded to it for fear of hurting his feelings.
“There is always a silver lining to the cloud,” continued Charlie more cheerfully. “That rascal of a gunroom steward won’t be able to palm off on me any longer his wofully tough salt horse and brickbat biscuit. No; he’ll have to feed me on a special diet of Brand’s beef jelly, Benger’s food, turtle soup, and jams of all sorts, varied occasionally by oysters (real natives of course), tipsy cake, and fruit jellies. Not a bad idea, eh? I’ll give you a tuck-in now and again, Jack, as you’re a good chum to me!”
“Thanks, awfully!” I said; “but I’m certain the steward would rather go to the expense of buying you a new set of teeth from a London dentist, than feed you up on all the delicacies of the season for the rest of the commission. Now I’m certain you oughtn’t to talk any more, Charlie, so I’m going to make myself scarce; and you must try to sleep till dinner-time, when I shall come and see you again.”
Half an hour later the Rattler was a scene of great excitement, for orders had gone forth that immediate preparations were to be made for landing a powerful naval brigade. I was very quickly caught up in the whirl of excitement, for Ned Burton, the coxswain of my boat, came hurrying to me to say that he had received orders from the first lieutenant to get the second cutter in readiness to assist in landing men, stores, and ammunition.
“It’s to be a picked force, sir,” said the seaman in conclusion, “and I’m glad to say that we’re both detailed for service.”
“I’m delighted to hear it,” I answered, “for I was half afraid that midshipmen would be excluded. When do we land, Ned?”
“I think in the evening, sir, so as to be ready for a start in the morning. We can’t take no field-guns, more’s the pity, for they say the country is a sight too hilly for anything but mountain guns.”