"Russell, after you disappeared Surgeon Barker said you had been sick—had been troubled with some sort of fever in your head. Don't you believe you went out of your head entirely, and imagined all this?"
"No, sir."
"Well, I reckon that's the truth of the matter, and the best thing you can do is to turn yourself over to the surgeon again for further treatment. How is your head?" And the officer of the deck placed his hand on Walter's forehead. "Ah, rather hot, as I thought. You had better go to bed." And he turned away.
"I don't think I'll go to bed just yet," murmured Walter, and lost no time in reaching the berth deck. Here he came up behind Si and Caleb playing one of their favorite games of checkers, while Paul stood looking on.
"Crown that man," Caleb was saying, when he chanced to glance up, "Walter! or is it a ghost?" he fairly yelled, and leaped up, scattering board and men in all directions. "Walter, where on earth did you come from?" And he reached out his hand.
"It is Walter, back from the grave!" ejaculated Si, and grasped the other hand, while Paul caught the youth by the neck.
"We thought you were drowned!" said all three, simultaneously.
"They said you had gone out of your mind, and committed suicide," added Paul.
"Well, I didn't commit suicide, and I'm as well as ever," was the merry return. "But—but—I don't believe you'll think I'm telling the truth when I give you my story."
"That depends on what sort of a yarn you spin," returned Caleb, dryly. "Where have you been—sinking Cervera's fleet single-handed?"