“Well,” said the captain, as he stood staring towards the cabin stairs, “I never see’d the doctor with his monkey up like that afore. Anyhow, he aren’t afraid to trust me with his bag of tricks down here, and bottles of mixture. But he needn’t have spoiled my chart!”
Chapter Fifty One.
That’s Saint Helena.
Night, and no sign of the brig. Morning, and the doctor and his nephew both on deck, with a sail in sight upon the distant horizon, while just beyond it, looming up, was what seemed to be a dark cloud.
“There she is!” cried the doctor, glass in hand. “We will soon know the truth now, Rodd.”
“That, sir?” said a voice close behind them. “That’s Saint Helena.”
The doctor started round as though he had been stung, to stare fiercely in the frank face of Joe Cross, who looked rather thin and hollow-cheeked, but had declared himself well enough to take the morning watch.
“It is, sir,” said the man, who took the doctor’s angry stare for a look of doubt. “That’s right enough, though it don’t look like an island. It’s the big rock where they’ve got Bony shut up.”