Such were the words which fell upon George Leicester’s ear as he once more became feebly conscious of the fact of his own existence. The words came to him mingled with other sounds, to wit—the creaking of bulkheads, the rattling of cabin doors hooked back to allow the free passage of fresh air, the grinding of a rudder and the clank of rudder-chains, the sonorous hum of the wind through a ship’s rigging, the flapping of a sail, the distant subdued murmur of men’s voices, and the soft plashing of water. He at the same time became conscious of a gentle swaying and pitching motion, such as is felt on board a ship close-hauled, with a moderate breeze and a correspondingly moderate sea.
For a minute or two George felt languidly puzzled as to his whereabouts, but he was by no means anxious for enlightenment upon the subject; he was in a state of blissful comfort, and he was quite content to remain in passive enjoyment of the same, to feel the gentle current of air softly fanning his brow, to yield himself to the easy, luxurious swing of the cot in which he was lying, and to listen dreamily to the soothing sough of the wind and the plash and gurgle of the water along the ship’s side.
It was whilst he remained in this semi-conscious state of beatitude that another voice broke in, in cheery response to the words of the first speaker, with—
“That’s capital news, doctor; I heartily congratulate you on the successful result of your efforts. And the other one is also likely to do well, you say?”
“Ou ay; he’ll do weel eneuch, too; though—mind ye—the puir laddie has had a narrow escape. But they’re a’ richt the noo; I ken richt weel what tae do wi’ baith noo that I hae succeedit in bringin’ back some signs o’ life in them. And noo, captain, if ye’ll excuse me, I’ll—eh, weel! hoo’s a’ wi’ ye the noo, my mon?”
This exclamation was elicited by the circumstance that George had at last mustered sufficient resolution to open his eyes and look curiously about him.
And this is what he saw. He saw that he was the occupant of a snow-white canvas cot, which hung suspended from the beams of a ship’s roomy after-cabin, the situation of the apartment being manifested by the presence of stern-ports fitted with glazed sashes, all of which were open. There were also two side-ports, one on each side of the cabin, out of which grinned a couple of eighteen-pound carronades, the carriages of which, as well as the whole of the gun inside the port, were painted white. The walls of the cabin, the deck-beams, and the underside of the deck were also painted white with gilt mouldings; a few pictures—one of which was the portrait of a lady—were securely fastened to the walls; the floor was covered with fine matting, and a large writing-table with three or four solid, substantial-looking chairs completed the furnishing of the apartment.
But the chief objects of attraction to George were two figures, which stood beside his cot. One of these was a tall, lanky individual, clad entirely in white, with red hair, prominent cheek-bones, and a pair of piercing grey eyes surmounted by shaggy eye-brows. The other was a shorter, stouter man, light-haired and blue-eyed, a genuine Saxon all over, his fair complexion tanned to a rich ruddy-brown hue, and with a hearty, kindly, genial expression of countenance which won George’s heart in an instant. This individual was also in white, his clothing being reduced to a shirt and a pair of white duck trousers supported at the waist by a belt. George had no difficulty in deciding that he was on board one of his Majesty’s frigates, and that the persons who stood beside him were her captain and the medico.
“Hoo’s a’ wi’ ye the noo, my mon?” repeated the doctor, placing his fingers upon George’s pulse.
“I—I—scarcely know,” stammered George drowsily. “I feel all right and very comfortable. Is anything the matter? And—and where am I?”