He was too much of a man to try to flatter his chief. Fernald spoke from the depths of complete conviction. He had known Dave Darrin's reputation at sea even before he had come to serve under this swift-thinking young officer. Dave's first care, now, was to inspect the dismounted gun. Only a few moments did he need to convince himself that the piece was a wreck that could never be put in use again. He then descended to the sick bay, where the surgeon and four baymen were giving tender attention to the wounded men. "It was a good fight, men," Dave said, as he passed through the bay. "Then I'm not kicking at what I found," cried one young sailor lad, cheerily. "Nor I," added another. "It was worth something, sir, to take part in a fight like that. Ouch! O-o-o-h!" Dave paused to bend over the sufferer, resting a hand on his nearer shoulder. "I beg pardon, sir," said the lad. "I didn't mean to make such a fuss. You'll think me a regular baby, sir." "No one is to be blamed for yelling, with a pair of shell fragment wounds like yours," broke in the surgeon, bending over and examining. "My boy, you have regular man's-size wounds." "Not going to croak me, are you, sir?" asked the young sailor, looking up into Medico's eyes. "Oh, no; not this trip, my lad." "Then I don't care," returned the young seaman. "Wouldn't care much, anyway, but there's a mother at home who would! Ouch! There I go again. My mother'd be ashamed of me." "No, she wouldn't," smiled the surgeon. "Look here, what I took out of that hole in your leg." He held up a jagged fragment of shell. It was somewhat oval-shaped, about an inch and a half in length and half as wide. "It hurt you more when I took that out than it would to pull a dozen of your teeth at once. Let's look at this other hole, the one on the other thigh. That's going to be a tougher job. I'll give you a few whiffs of chloroform, so you won't notice anything." "Do I have to have the chloroform, sir?" demanded the sailor lad, who was not more than eighteen. "You don't have to, Bassett, but it will be for your comfort," replied Medico. "Then don't ask me to smell the stuff, sir. When this war is over I want to look back and think of myself as a fighting man--not as a chap who had to be gassed every time the sawbones looked at him. Beg your pardon, sir." But Medico merely smiled at being called sawbones. "Chloroform or not, just as you like, lad," the surgeon went on. "Either way, you can always look back with satisfaction on your record as a fighting man, for your grit is all of the right kind." "Much obliged to you, sir, for saying that," replied the young sailor. "Ouch! Wait, please, sir. Let me get a grip on the cot frame with both hands. Now, I'm all ready, sir."