"Yes, old sonny; either her boiler blew up or a shell burst there. She's done for."
The Orphan bit his lip—hard.
There happened to be a spare cabin aboard the Achates, and, after Dr. O'Neill had dressed the wounded foot, the Orphan was placed in the bunk there.
"The toe may have to come off, or it mayn't," Dr. O'Neill growled. "It won't be any use to you, whichever happens."
Captain Macfarlane came to see him, looking grave, but smiling at him in his kind, fatherly way. "The Sub tells me you cleared off a lot of Turks with that maxim after you'd been hit."
"I didn't really know I had been, sir."
He tugged at his beard, and then began to talk, as though what he had to say was not pleasant. "I have some news for you. It will be a great disappointment, I fear, to you, but you will understand why I wish you to know this before the others. I may as well tell you that I recommended the Sub and you, in the picket-boat, and the midshipman of the steam pinnace for the Distinguished Service Cross."
"Did you, sir? Really, sir!" The Orphan's heart beat fast. "The old Hun, too, sir?"
"Yes, I did. It was for taking your steamboats in and bringing off the crippled transports' boats, after the Lancashire Fusiliers had landed. The Sub and the Hun, as you call him, have been granted it, but I am very sorry indeed" (the Orphan knew what was coming and caught his breath) "that you have not. The Sub was in charge of your boat at the time, and you were not. You see, that makes a difference, I suppose."
The Orphan, biting his lips, nodded. He could not trust himself to speak.