Gilbert Oglander and Roland Grenville were among those who were told off to take charge of the Revenge's invalids. Timothy Trollope and Robin Redfern were with them, acting for the greater part of the time as water-carriers. Red Bob was among the sick, so was Edward Webbe. Hartop remained on board the ship.
It was weary work looking after men who, in the midst of their sickness, were for ever grumbling at the bad food and the lack of good doctors. But the purer air and an abundance of fresh water, together with such ripe fruit as could be procured, gradually brought the sufferers round to a better condition. The deaths were fewer and the pestilence ceased to spread. Also on the thirtieth day of the month there arrived two ships from England, sent out by the merchants of Plymouth with a supply of victuals; and the news of home brought additional cheer to those who had been lingering here in the Azores for over five months, waiting for the treasure-ships that they were to waylay and capture, waiting until the very clothes on their backs were worn to rags.
CHAPTER XVIII.
DRUSILLA'S LETTER.
ON the morning following the arrival of the ships, boats were sent shoreward for water and for shingle. The shingle was required for ballast, the old and polluted ballast having been cast overboard in the endeavour to clear the vessels of the infection.
Jacob Hartop was in charge of one of the boats from the Revenge, and all through the day he laboured in the heat of the sun with his men, shovelling shingle into his boat and making trip after trip between the shore and the ship. When he landed on his second trip he sought out Gilbert Oglander.
Gilbert looked very different now from the gaily-apparelled lad who had gone on board the vice-admiral's ship at Plymouth in the early spring-time. His face was burned to a rich ruddy brown; his clothes were soiled and ragged, the gilt lace trimmings tarnished; the feathers had been torn from his cap, which was now but a sorry covering for his long-grown hair. Like all his companions, he had, for reasons of economy as much as for those of comfort and convenience, altogether abandoned his boots, and his bare feet, like his face and hands and arms, were as sunburnt as those of a Sicilian fisherman. He was kneeling in the shade of a large spreading date-palm, peeling a ripe orange for Red Bob, when Jacob Hartop approached him. He glanced up and nodded to the old buccaneer, smiled in greeting, and proceeded to divide the orange into liths, handing them one by one to his patient.
Jacob sat down on the soft warm sand and watched the lad for a few moments in silence.