Chapter Twenty Nine.
The sea was terrific when Sydney took his first look-out next morning, after a good restful sleep, and he felt terribly low-spirited, for he was experienced enough to see that Mr Dallas was in a very low and dangerous state. He was feverish, and lay wild-eyed and strange, evidently recognising no one, but talking in a low, muttering way.
“It’s too much to be on my shoulders,” Syd said to himself, despondently, as he took off his hat, and stood letting the cool morning air fan his forehead. “Mr Dallas wanting a surgeon, Terry setting me at defiance, the men half mutinous, and the whole charge of everything on my shoulders.”
One of his remarks was hardly fair, for the men greeted him with a smile and a cheery aspect every time he went near them, and after their breakfast worked most energetically to make the improvements suggested overnight, so that about sundown Strake smiled in his grim way, and touched his hat.
“There, sir,” he said; “the captain may come back and land now if he likes. I shouldn’t be ashamed to show him round.”
“No, Strake; everything is beautifully neat.”
“Yes, sir; decks cleared for action. We’re ready for anybody now.”
“Have you looked in on the lieutenant lately?”
“Half-hour ago, sir. Mr Roylance was with him, watching closely.”