Clare was taken below, heavily ironed, and thrown into the ship's prison. There, bruised in body and sick at heart, he watched away the weary night. He almost regretted he had not killed the mate. No doubt this was wrong and horrible; but we must remember he had been driven nearly mad, and knew full well the punishment for the attack upon Cravan would be death—or a worse fate to a man of feeling—a flogging.
Once during the night he was visited by a midshipman who evidently pitied him. Tom's wrists were raw and bleeding, so the youngster tore up his handkerchief, and bound it round the handcuffs, the sentry who accompanied the officer holding the light, and laughing to himself all the time to think any one could be so "soft." James Ryan—this was the middy's name—was a warm-hearted Irish lad, and would never allow a man to be treated like a dog, if he had power to prevent it. Clare did not say anything when the boy had completed his task of mercy; in fact, it was almost impossible for him to speak, so overcome was he by the kindness. When the door was closed upon him, he heard the sentry say, with a chuckle,
"Didn't seem to thank ye for it much, sir?"
"Perhaps he felt all the more," replied the generous boy. This was true, as Tom thanked him in his heart.
Few who do not know the service can understand the goodness of the middy, who was laughed at for weeks afterwards for his act of mercy. If any one lost his handkerchief, he was directed to Ryan for it, with the remark that "possibly he had given it to some deserter."
Mr. Cravan submitted his bruises to the inspection of a sympathizing assistant-surgeon, and then went to bed, or, as sailors term it, "turned in," determined to be revenged on the man who had so violently attacked him. "He's safe for four dozen, anyhow," he murmured, as he arranged the bandage over his aching eyes, "and it will do the brute good."
The next day he received the condolence of Puffeigh and Crushe; but Lieutenant Ford and the rest of the ward-room officers did not conceal the disgust they felt at his behaviour, and he also found himself cut by many of his mess-mates in the gun-room.
A few evenings after this he went to a ball, and as only one or two of those present knew the facts of the case, he received many sympathizing inquiries. The poor fellow who had so nearly been killed by a brute of a deserter was an object of great attention to many present, and "Nosey" Cravan for once experienced little difficulty in obtaining partners. He was, however, not a little piqued by the reply of the belle of the evening, to his request to honour him with her hand for the next waltz. Bending towards him, and smiling as if she were conveying a complimentary reply, she whispered, "No, sir, I cannot dance with such a hero."
This young lady was a cousin of Lieutenant Ford's, and had heard from her relation that Mr. Cravan had grossly insulted the man who attacked him; therefore, when elated with his success among the ladies, the mate ventured to solicit her as a partner, she quietly put him down.
"She never can mean to snub me because I spoke rather roughly to the fellow. Well, I suppose Ford has told them his version of the affair. She's a deuced peculiar sort of a girl, and probably thinks the man ought not to be flogged for his infernal conduct, and has romantic ideas that the fellow has feelings like ours," thought Cravan. He, however, wandered into the supper-room, and finding a vacant place, was soon too far gone in champagne to trouble himself what people thought of him, under any circumstances whatever.