"All right; don't you talk any more. We will get your friends here in no
time."

But when Mr. Allen came ashore Dick was again unconscious. The mate
fetched two more surgeons, who, after conferring with the first, were
all of opinion that although he might possibly recover from his wounds,
weeks would elapse before he would be convalescent. Before night fever
had set in, and it was a fortnight before he was again conscious of what
was passing round him. He looked feebly round the room. One of the
red-shirted men was attending to a pot over a charcoal fire. Turning his
head he saw, standing looking out of the window, his friend Tom Haldane.

"Halloa, Tom," he said, in a whisper, which, however, reached the
midshipman's ears. He turned sharply round, and hurried to the bedside.

"Thank God, Dick, you are conscious again. Don't try to talk, old
fellow; drink this lemonade, and then shut your eyes again."

Dick tried to raise his hand to take the glass, but, to his surprise,
found he was unable to do so. Tom, however, put it to his lips and
poured it down his throat. It was cool and pleasant, and with a sigh of
relief he again closed his eyes, and went off into a quiet sleep.

When he awoke it was evening; the window was open, and the fresh air
came in, making the lamp on the table flicker.

"How do you feel now, old man?" Tom asked.

"I feel all right," he said, "but I am wonderfully weak. I suppose I