"So I would—but I wouldn't expect to come back alive. I'll wager we never see Hobson again, nor none of his men."
The fierce heat of the day had given Walter a headache. As evening came on it grew worse, and he was not able to sleep during the night.
"I hope I'm not getting the Cuban fever," he remarked to Caleb, who had offered several simple remedies ready at hand.
"Better report and go on the sick list," advised the old gunner. "If it's fever, the sooner you take it in hand the better."
At first Walter demurred, but finally, as the ache in his head began to creep all over him, he reported to one of the surgeons. "I don't want to go into the sick bay," he said, "but I wish you would give me something."
"Yes, you need something," was the answer. "We don't want any men to get down so soon. We may have to stay on the blockade here for some time, if Cervera refuses to come out and fight us."
"Or we block him in with the wreck of the Merrimac," said Walter, with a faint smile.
"Oh, that will be only a temporary check, to give Admiral Sampson time to get his fleet into shape and give the army authorities time to send on an army of invasion. The army is already gathering at Tampa," replied the surgeon.
The medicine was forthcoming, and Walter was at once given a big dose and told to repeat every two hours. "It has quinine in it and will make your ears ring and your head buzz, but that won't hurt you," said the surgeon. "If you feel worse by to-morrow morning, report to me again."
This was at eight o'clock. By noon Walter felt as if a buzz saw was in full operation in his head, while he could not hear at all. But he continued to take the medicine, and rested in a hammock slung up in the coolest spot to be found between decks.