"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.