“You don’t seem very bad,” observed Tom.
“No; the fever, or whatever it was, that had got hold of me, has cut its stick, though I don’t feel quite as nimble as I ought to be,” answered Gerald. “I believe that the disappointment of not going to China, and the thinking over what my uncle Terence can want me home for, had more to do with it than the climate, the hot sun, or anything else, and I intend to ask the doctor to let me go on deck to-morrow, by which time I shall have finished my book, and I want to have a look at any of the islands we may happen to pass. There are some curious shaped ones, I am told.”
“Yes; we have sighted some. One seemed to rise three or four hundred feet in a pointed peak, right out of the water, and it was not, I should say, an eighth of a mile in circumference. It is marked on the chart as Lot’s wife. A solitary existence she must lead all by herself.”
“Whereabouts are we?” asked Desmond.
“At noon, when we were passing that curious rock, our latitude was 29 degrees north, and our longitude 14 degrees east. We shall next sight the Bonin Islands, or Rosario, which is another lofty island, little more than a rock, standing up out of the sea.”
“Do ask the doctor if I may get up, Tom; I should be sorry to pass these places without having a look at them,” exclaimed Desmond. “I can finish my book by-and-by.”
Just then the officer spoken of, Mr Hussey, came out from the gun-room. He was a short, somewhat stout gentleman, with a good-natured expression of countenance, and a merry twinkle in the eye, which showed that he could enjoy a joke, and was likely to utter many a one himself. His naturally florid complexion was deepened into a still more ruddy hue by exposure to the hot suns of the tropics.
“Do, doctor, let me get up; your physic has done me an immense deal of good, and I feel quite well already,” said Desmond.
The doctor felt his pulse. “You get up!” he exclaimed. “What do you think yourself made of?” trying to look grave.
“Arrah, shure, sugar and spice and all that’s nice! that’s what midshipmen are made of. But shure, doctor dear, you will not keep me here, stewing by myself, when I might be enjoying the pure air of heaven?—for I really am well, doctor.”