"I should like to see you do it."

"You shall, my dear young friend. Last night it was rat; night before owl; now it's mole."

"Well, so you are a jolly old mole. Regular night bird."

"Didn't know a mole was a night bird."

"Boo! clever. He's getting well, is he? You're always sneaking about in the dark. Why, if I'd been wounded I should be proud of my scars."

"Should you?" said Mark, passing his hand over his bald head and scorched eyebrows. "Well, I'm not, and I shan't care about showing myself till my hair's grown."

"Look here, I'll get the armourer to make you a wig out of some oakum."

"Bob Howlett, I'm strong enough to lick you now," said Mark, gripping the boy's thin arm, "so just hold your tongue. Now tell me how's poor Mr Russell?"

"Coming round fast. Whitney goes about rubbing his hands when he thinks no one is looking. He's as proud as a peacock with ten tails because he operated on Russell's head and lifted up something, and now the poor fellow's going on jolly. I like Russell."

"So do I. He's a true gentleman."

"And I shall make him take me next row there is on. He's sure to be wounded or something, he's such an unlucky beggar, and then I should have to be in command."

Mark burst out laughing.

"Now don't be sneering and jealous," cried Bob. "Think nobody else can capture slavers but you? Nasty slice of luck, that's all it was. Yah! I'm sick of it."

"Of what?"

"Hearing the fellows puffing and blowing you up. You'll go pop like a soap bubble one of these days."

Mark laughed good-humouredly.

"Anyone would think you had done wonders, and were going to be promoted to admiral instead of being only a middy who has to pass his examination years hence, and then going to be plucked for a muff, for I know more navigation than you do. Look here, Guy Fawkes: when the sun is in right declination forty-four degrees south, how would you find the square root of the nadir?"

"Put your head a little nearer, Bob; I can't hit out quite so far."

"Hit—hit me? Why, you bald-headed, smooth-faced—No, I won't jump on you now you're down. I'll be bagdadibous, as the chap with a cold in his head said through his nose. Favourite of fortune, I forgive you."

"Thankye."

"Because I shall get my whack of the prize-money same as you, old chap."

"Ah, how are all the slaves?"

"Nice and clean. They've all been white-washed."

"Get out."

"Well, I mean the holds, and they eat and drink and lie about in the sun basking like black tom-cats with their wives and kittens. I wish they wouldn't be so jolly fond of lying down on the deck like door-mats, and asking you to wipe your shoes on 'em."

"They don't."

"No, poor beggars, but they're so delighted that they're just like pet dogs. Seem as if they couldn't make enough of you."

"Got any news, Bob?"

"No. Leastwise, not much," said Bob, taking out his knife and sharpening it on his boot, which was a sign that he was going to cut his initials somewhere, to the great detriment of her Majesty's ship's fittings and boats.

"It's rather dull down here sometimes."

"Then why don't you come on deck?"

"I'd—I'd rather wait a bit," said Mark, sadly.

"Perhaps it would be best. You do look such a rum 'un. I know. Capital idea. I'll ask the ship's tailor to make you a Turkish costume, white. Your bare head would look all right then. What'll you have—a fez or a turban? Say fez; your complexion would look well with the scarlet."

Bob joked, Mark read, and trusted to his friend for reports, and meanwhile the two schooners sailed on with their prize crews in the wake of the Nautilus. In due time Port Goldby was reached, and the freed slaves disembarked, all chattering and happy as so many girls and boys.

There had been times when Mark missed the excitement of his adventures, and agreed with Bob that it was hot and tame; but his burns rapidly healed, and he received visits from the men who had shared his troubles, and after dark stole unseen to Mr Russell's quarters, to sit in his cabin and talk to him gently about all the past.

"You'll have all the work to do next time, Mr Russell," Mark used to say. "Some day I shall be the one down, but I hope I shall be with you when you command some other expedition."

"I hope you will be with me," said the lieutenant, feebly; "but not be so unlucky as I have been. But there: never mind past troubles. I'm getting stronger, thanks to Mr Whitney. All that time I passed insensible is to me like a long night's rest. Mark, my lad, I hope we shall have many adventures together yet; but whether we do or no, though I am much older than you are, remember one thing: you and I must always be good friends, and some day, if ever I command a ship, I hope you will be my lieutenant."

"Ah," said Mark, "that's a long way off, but I hope I may."



CHAPTER FORTY THREE.

MARK IS WANTED ON DECK.

"Here, Mark, old chap, the skipper wants you on the quarter-deck," said Bob Howlett some weeks later.

"Wants me?" cried Mark, clapping his hand to his head.

"Yes."

"Why, I heard the men piped up, and everybody's there."

"Yes, all of 'em. Russell's there too, and Whitney."

"Whitney?"

"Yes, I think the skipper's going to have your bare head exhibited, and the doctor's to give the men a lecture on the new growth of hair on the human skull."

"Get out; he doesn't want me, Bob. I shall be obliged to give you that licking."

"No gammon, really. You are to come at once."

"Is this serious?"

"Yes: honour."

"But—oh, Bob, I'm such a guy."

"You are, my boy; but we'll forgive you. Come on." Mark hurriedly covered as much of his disfigurement as he could with his cap, and followed his messmate on deck, where, to his horror, he found officers and men all drawn up, with the shabby port and town of Goldby glorified by the setting sun, and all beneath the quarter-deck awning bathed in a golden glow.

One of the first objects upon which his eyes lit was the young lieutenant, looking weak and pale, as he sat there in uniform for the first time during many days. Tom Fillot and the rest of the prize crew were in front, and as Mark shrinkingly marched up to where the captain was waiting, Mr Russell gave him a friendly smile, and the first lieutenant one of his frowning nods.

Mark felt miserable, for, as Bob kindly told him afterwards, he looked just like an escaped lunatic, who had jumped out of a strait waistcoat into a middy's uniform. He felt as if the men were smiling in derision at his aspect, especially Tom Fillot and Dance, who were grinning, while Soup and Taters displayed nearly every one of their magnificent white teeth.

There was a singing in his ears too, and a sensation of giddiness; and when Mr Whitney nodded and looked hard at him, the midshipman half thought that Bob Howlett's words were right, and that the doctor was really going to lecture upon his bald head.

Then the captain spoke, amidst the most profound silence, and Mark felt as if he were a culprit, and as ready to hang his head; but somehow he drew a deep breath and held himself up stiffly, and his eyes flashed defiance, as he said to himself, "Let them laugh if they like. I did my duty."

"Glad to see you on deck again, Mr Vandean," said the captain, shaking hands, and speaking in his clear, penetrating tones. "I know that you have felt a little shrinking naturally, sir, but no British sailor need be ashamed of scars received in an honourable service."

"Thank you, sir," murmured Mark, in a choking voice, and his eyes looked his gratitude.

"I sent for you, Mr Vandean, because I felt that you ought to hear an announcement I have to make to the whole crew of her Majesty's sloop Nautilus."

He paused for a moment or two, and whispered to Mr Staples, who was close behind him. Then he nodded, and went on:

"The two schooners so gallantly taken, lost, and retaken by the brave little prize crew I sent on board, have been condemned and sold. They are beautiful little well-formed vessels, and have made a splendid price.—Silence!"

There had been a low murmur, which was instantly checked.

"Then for head money on one hundred and eighty-seven poor black fellow-creatures rescued from what to them were floating hells, there will also be a handsome sum to add, and make a capital distribution of prize-money amongst the smartest crew a captain in Her Majesty's service could wish to command."

Here there was an attempt at a cheer, but the captain held up his hand.

"I have a few more words to say, and they are these. We all owe our thanks to those officers and men who have turned what had so far been a barren time into one rich in action. There is not a man among us who would not gladly have done his duty as well; and no doubt—it shall not be my fault if they do not—others will have plenty of opportunities for distinguishing themselves. But I feel that we ought all to publicly thank these officers and men for the brave fight they made on our behalf. You will be glad to hear that I have strongly recommended my gallant friend Mr Russell for promotion, which he has won by his brave efforts and his sufferings in our great humane fight to wipe away the sinister black bar from the world's shield of civilisation. Stop, my lads; you shall cheer directly. Dance, Fillot, and Bannock stand next for promotion, and I thank them publicly for setting so brave an example with their messmates, of patient self-denial, obedience, and sterling British manly pluck in a good cause."

Another murmur ran along the ranks, and Mark saw that Tom Fillot was hanging his head and colouring like a schoolboy, while Dance could not stand still. Almost at the same moment Mark caught Bob Howlett's eyes, which twinkled with mischief and seemed to say, "Your turn now."

"One more word," said the captain, "and I have done."

He paused, and in the intense, painful silence the glowing quarter-deck, with its many faces, seemed to swim round Mark Vandean.

"There is one whom I have not named," said the captain—"Mr Vandean."

Here, unchecked, there was a tremendous cheer, in which the officers joined, and the captain smiled, while now Mark's head did hang a little, and he trembled.

Then, as there was silence once more, the captain turned to him.

"Mr Vandean," he said, "I thank you—we all thank you for what you have done. I name you, of course, in my despatch, but it is folly to talk to you of promotion for years to come. That is certain, however, if you go on in the course you have followed since you joined my ship. I tell you, sir, that it is such lads as you who have made the words British Boy admired—I may say honoured—wherever our country's name is known. Mark Vandean, I am proud of you, and some day I feel that your country will be as proud—proud as we all are—proud as the father and mother at home will be when they know everything about their gallant son. God bless you, my boy! A British captain should be like a father to the lads whom he commands. Heaven knows I feel so toward you."

He stopped, with his hand on Mark's shoulder, and the first lieutenant stepped forward, cap in hand, to wave it wildly.

"Now, my lads," he shouted, "for Lieutenant Russell and Mr Vandean: cheer!"

They did.

"One more for our captain!"

The voices rang out again and again, and yet again. And made the water ripple round the ship, Bob Howlett afterwards declared. But five minutes after, when he was down with Mark in the middies' berth, while the hero of the evening sat hot and quivering in every nerve, Bob uttered a contemptuous snort.

"Oh!" he cried, "what a jolly shame!"

Mark stared.

"You do get all the crumb, old chap. All that fuss over a fellow with a head of hair like yours!"

Then, as he saw the pained look in his messmate's countenance, the tears rose in his eyes, and he gulped out,—

"Only my gammon, old chap. I'm as proud of you as any of 'em, and I only wish now that we were two great gals."

"Why?" cried Mark, wonderingly, as he caught the hands extended to him by his friend.

"Because then I could hug you. But I can't: it would be so Frenchy."

"Fists'll do," said Mark, gripping Bob's fingers with all his might.

"Yes, and we're to stick to each other always."

"Always."

"Through thick and thin."

"Through thick and thin."

"Chums to the end."

"To the very end, Bob."

"Yah!" roared the latter, angrily, as he picked up a bread tray to throw at a head he had seen through his dim eyes watching them intently, "How dare you sneak in, sir to watch what's going on? Why, I thought it was one of the men. Come here and stand on your head, ugly. You can't tell tales of how stupid and choky I've been."

The chimpanzee came forward out of the semi-darkness, and squatted down to have its ears pulled; while, as soon as he grew more calm, and his heart beat regularly once again, Mark sat down to pen a long, long letter to that best of places—his far-off home.

THE END