“Don’t want to punish them any more, Sir John, I suppose?” cried the captain.
“No, no, let the miserable wretches go,” said Jack’s father.
“Then we’ll go back to the old anchorage, sir, for there’s a look about the sky I don’t like.”
The signal was given, and the yacht began to glide rapidly through the water, back toward where the volcano rose up glowing with colour in the morning light, while Jack was at Ned’s side as he lay coming to on the deck.
He stared about him for a few moments, and then fixed his eyes on those of Jack, breaking out half hysterically—
“I couldn’t help it, Mr Jack, sir; don’t set me down for a cowardly cur.”
“Help what?” said the lad wonderingly.
“Turning like a woman, and fainting away that how. Oh, do give me a dose o’ something, doctor, I feel sick as a dog.”
“No, no; lie still for a minute or two, and you’ll be all right,” said the doctor, patting his shoulder, and Ned uttered a cry.
“Don’t, don’t, sir. It’s agony—my bad shoulder—the arrow—and he hit me there with his club.”