The laugh was there all ready in the eyes of the crew, and ready to burst out in a roar, as, thrusting the revolver into his breast, Poole ran to his father's side, and steadied him as he went back into the cabin; but not a sound was heard till the way was quite clear and Fitz stood alone looking wildly about him like some hunted animal seeking a place of refuge where he might hide. But the lad's choice was limited to the cook's galley, the cable-tier, and the forecastle-hatch, none of which would do. There were only two courses open, he felt, and one was to end his troubles by going overboard, the other to surrender like a man, 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."