And thus he was christened Smiles--which, however, through some fatuous process of fabrication so soon grew to Smilax, that as Smilax he shall henceforth be known. The frown of displeasure that had gathered on Monsieur's brow fled as the fellow spoke. For he did speak, telling in his own style that the concussion had been a mere bagatelle, that his faculties had returned quite unimpaired after their brief absence, and that he was hungry but ready to serve us. What he did actually say to express this--to which the professor would have devoted five whole minutes of scientific phrasing--was: "Me well." Monsieur sprang forward and imperiously commanded him to sit facing the western glow. He then proceeded to squint closely into the patient fellow's eyes, he felt of his head, his pulse, and looked at his tongue. At last he stood back, pondering with an air of deep solemnity. "It is true," he sighed. "The man is well." "You look like we ought to put the flag at half-mast," I said. "What's the objection to a little snicker?" "I do not understand," he murmured, ignoring this flippancy, "how he got well so soon." "Of all the funereal old bugs!" Tommy began to laugh at him. "If you ever doctored me, gezabo, and I happened to recover, darned if I wouldn't turn around and die out of pity for you! Come here, Smilax, I want to ask some questions!" The result of Tommy's probing showed that late the previous afternoon, while this negro was fishing sponges, the _Orchid_ deliberately ran him down. She would not have stopped, but luckily he grasped the bowsprit stays and climbed aboard of her. Here he was met and roundly cursed by angry men who were, for a while, at least, in favor of throwing him back. He had seen the _Whim_ following. No, he had not seen a lady. Yes, he had heard strange music that, with our shooting at them, decided him to swim off to us during the night. To Tommy's further questioning we learned that he knew nothing of the Ten Thousand Islands except through hearsay. As to his wound the recital was brief: he had been put to work wrapping up many things in old sails; two men came into the galley and stood by while he finished the last bundle, then one of them who wore a cap like--he pointed to Gates--stepped behind him, something crashed upon his head, and that was all. Tommy drew in his breath with a sharp hiss, saying: "That's a cold blooded bunch!" "They're on those islands, sir," Gates cried. "I just feel it!" The mate and his half of the crew had come aboard after making the _Orchid_ snug for whatever weather the increasing sultriness portended, while Tommy took Smilax forward to coach him in the manipulation of an automatic revolver--for this modern arm puzzled the big negro who was, however, nicely skilled in the use of older models.