The captain’s address was received, as he expected it would be, with hearty cheers, and several voices among the men cried out, “We’ll stick by you, sir, and you won’t have to be ashamed of us.”
Several fires had been lighted, round which the men were collected, cooking their suppers in a fashion in which Jack especially delights when he has the chance; but the rising wind soon made it necessary to put them all out, for fear of their setting the bushes and trees in flames, or lest a wandering spark might find its way to the tent in which the powder was stored. This, by Mr Foley’s forethought, had been erected some way from the camp, and a sentry placed over it. The next thing to be done was to secure the tents with preventer-stays, as the seamen called them. By this means, furiously as the wind began to blow, not a tent was capsized. Being composed of sails, they were much lower than ordinary tents, and thus much less exposed than such would have been. They resembled indeed gipsy tents, though on a larger scale. It was fortunate for the shipwrecked crew that they had been erected in good time, for as the night drew on the rain came down in torrents, and would have drenched them to the skin. The wind increased, howling and whistling amid the cocoa-nut trees; while the sea, as it dashed with increasing fury on the shore, uttered continuous and never-ceasing roars, echoed, so it seemed, by the breakers on the more distant reefs. The commander, who had scarcely closed his eyes on board, shared a tent with his lieutenants and the surgeon. His chief care, for the present was over, and he at length fell fast asleep.
“It is a hard trial for him, poor man,” observed the surgeon, as he and the two lieutenants sat at their table at the further end of the tent. “Though it may not be the commander’s fault when he loses his ship, he must feel it dreadfully.”
“Somewhat as you feel when you lose a patient, Mac,” observed Mr Tarwig.
“Nay, nay,” answered the doctor. “I have a better chance of getting fresh patients, whereas the captain who loses his ship is often looked upon as unfortunate, and may chance not to get another—”
“That he may have the opportunity of losing her, doctor, you would say, just as you would desire to have the chance of losing some fresh patients.”
“You’re hard on me, Tarwig,” said the doctor. “My desire is to cure them. And just remember that men’s lives are not in our hands: all we can do is to employ such knowledge as we possess. That may be but little, I confess, for I tell you our ignorance is great. If I pride myself on anything, it is that I am aware that I know next to nothing, and that is what many fools do not.”
“Well said, Mac,” observed Norman. “I always had a respect for you, and I have a greater now, and shall have perfect confidence in your skill, if I should have again to come to you for assistance. I believe I owe my life to you when I was wounded, as far as I owe it to any human being.”
“Nay, nay,” again said the doctor, laughing. “You owe it, to my thinking, to a fair young lady who looked after you so carefully when we put you on shore at Waterford—for you were in a bad way then, let me tell you, though I did not say so at the time.”
“He has repaid the debt, doctor, for I understand that the same young lady was in the house attacked by the rebels, and that they were on the point of entering it and murdering all the inmates, when he drove them to the right-about,” said Mr Tarwig.