, obeying
the skipper's orders and following him below--anywhere to be out of
sight of the jeering crew, whose remarks and mirthful shouts he
momentarily expected to hear buzzing about his devoted head. And hence
it was that as soon as the companion-hatch was clear he drew himself up
to his full height--it did not take much doing, for it is very hard work
for a boy to look like a man--and gazing straight before him, walked
haughtily to the cabin-hatch and disappeared.

The men seemed to have been holding their breath; their faces relaxed
into smiles and grins, and the carpenter exclaimed--

"Chips and shavings! Bantams aren't--"

In another moment there would have been a roar of derisive laughter, but
Butters growled out hoarsely and sternly--

"Stand by! D'y' hear? Steady, my lads! None of that 'ere! Grinning
like a set of Cheshire cats! What have you got to sneer at? My word!
My word! And a boy like that! That's what I call genuine British
pluck! What a hofficer he'd make!"

"Ay, ay!" cried the carpenter. "Right you are. All together, lads! He
is the right sort! Three cheers!"

They were given, with the boatswain pining in, and Fitz winced as he
heard them down by the cabin-door; but he was himself again directly,
for there was no jarring note of derision in the sound.

CHAPTER FIFTEEN.

A MISS-FIRE.

Fitz Burnett felt the next moment as if it would be easier to do that
which had never fallen to his lot--board with an excited crew an enemy's
ship, as he stood there for a few brief moments at the cabin-door
listening to the heavy breathing and movements of the skipper, sounds
which he knew meant that he was being helped back into his berth. For
the cabin-door had swung to, and he could see nothing of that which was
passing within.

But the task had to be done, and the men's cheer, rightly interpreted,
seemed to have heartened him up, so that feeling more himself, he waited
till he heard a heavy sigh of relief which told its own tale, and then
giving the door a thrust, he stepped into the little cabin, to face its
owner lying extended upon his back.

Seeing Poole standing by his father's head, facing him, he waited
motionless for a few moments.

"Hah! That's better!" sighed the skipper. "Get me the quinine-bottle
out of the chest, my boy. This fever has made me as weak as a rat."

Poole moved to one of the lockers at once, leaving the way clear for his
father to see the young mids