“Is that you, Noddy?” asked the captain, faintly.

“Yes, sir.  How do you feel, captain?”

“I think I’m a little better.  I wish you would ask Mollie to come in; I want to see her.”

“Does your head ache now, sir?” asked Noddy, who did not like to tell him that his daughter had just been taken with the fever.

“Not so bad as it did.  Just speak to Mollie.”

“I think you are ever so much better, sir.  You will be out in a day or two.”

“Do you think so, Noddy?”

“Yes, sir; I’m certain you will,” answered the boy, who knew that faith was life in the present instance.

“I’m glad you think so.  I certainly feel a great deal better,” replied the captain, as though he was already cheered by the inspiration of hope.

“You must be careful, and keep still; and you will be all right in a week, at the most.”

“I hope so; for I couldn’t help thinking, when I was taken down, what a bitter thing it would be to poor Mollie if I should die so far from home and friends.”

“You have got over the worst of it now, captain.”

“Is Mollie out in the cabin?” asked the sufferer, persistently returning to the subject near his heart.

“No, sir; she is not, just now.”

“Has she gone on deck?”

“No, sir.”

“Where is she, Noddy?” demanded he, earnestly, as he attempted to raise himself up in his cot.

“Don’t stir, captain; it will make you worse, if you do.”

“Tell me where Mollie is at once, or I shall jump out of my berth.  Is she ­is she ­”

“She is in her room, captain.  Don’t be worried about her,” replied Noddy, who was afraid that the truth would have a bad effect upon the devoted father.  “She laid down a little while ago.”

“Is she dead?” gasped the captain, with a mighty effort to utter the appalling word.

“O, no, sir!  She was taken sick a little while ago.”

“O, mercy!” groaned the sick man.  “I know it all now.”

“It’s no use to deny it, sir.  She has got the fever.”

“And I lay here helpless!”

“She said she felt a little better when I came out.  I gave her the medicine, and did everything for her.”

“I must go to her.”

“You will worry her to death, if you do, captain.  She is more troubled about you than she is about herself.  If you lay still, so I can report that you are doing well, it will be the best thing in the world for her.  It will do her more good than the medicine.”

“Tell her I am well, Noddy!”

“It won’t do to tell her too much; she won’t believe anything, if I do,” said Noddy, sorely troubled about the moral management of the cases.

“Tell her I am well, Noddy; and I will go and sit by her,” replied the sufferer, who was no more able to get out of his bed than he was to cure the fearful disease.

“I can’t do anything, captain, if you don’t keep still in your bed.  She is a little out just now; but I think she will do very well, if you only let her alone.”

Captain McClintock was in an agony of suspense; but Noddy succeeded in consoling him so that he promised to remain quietly in his bed.  As physician and nurse, as well as friend and comforter, the cabin-boy found his hands full; but he had a heart big enough for the occasion; and all day and all night he went from one patient to another, ministering to their wants with as much skill and judgment as though he had been trained in a sick room.

Mollie grow worse as the hours wore heavily away; but this was to be expected, and the patient nurse was not discouraged by the progressive indications of the disease.  Towards morning the captain went to sleep; but it required all the faithful boy’s energies to keep Mollie in her bed, as she raved with the heated brain of the malady.

In the morning one of the seamen was reported out of danger, and the others in a hopeful condition.  Noddy was completely exhausted by his labors and his solicitude.  Mr. Lincoln saw that he could endure no more; and as he had obtained a few hours’ sleep on deck during the night, he insisted that the weary boy should have some rest, while he took care of the sick.  Noddy crawled into his berth, and not even his anxiety for poor Mollie could keep him awake any longer.  He slept heavily, and the considerate mate did not wake him till dinner-time, when he sprang from his berth and hastened to the couch of the sick girl.

Another day passed, and Mollie began to exhibit some hopeful symptoms.  Her father was still improving.  The patients in the forecastle were also getting better.  Noddy felt that no more of the Roebuck’s people were to be cast into the sea.  Hope gave him new life.  He was rested and refreshed by the bright prospect quite as much as by the sleep which the kindness of Mr. Lincoln enabled him to obtain.

The schooner still sped on her course with favoring breezes; while Noddy, patient and hopeful, performed the various duties which the fell disease imposed upon him.  He had not regarded the danger of taking the fever himself.  He had no thought now for any one but poor Mollie, who was daily improving.  One by one the crew, who had been stricken down with the malady, returned to the deck; but it was a long time before they were able to do their full measure of duty.  In a week after Mollie was taken sick, her father was able to sit a portion of the day by her side; and a few days later, she was able to sit up for a few moments.

The terrible scourge had wasted itself; but the chief mate and three of the crew had fallen victims to the sad visitation.  Yellow fever patients convalesce very slowly; and it was a fortnight before Captain McClintock was able to go on deck; but at the same time, Mollie, weak and attenuated by her sufferings, was helped up the ladder by her devoted friend and nurse.  The cloud had passed away from the vessel, and everybody on board was as happy as though disease and death had never invaded those wooden walls.  But the happiness was toned to the circumstances.  Hearts had been purified by suffering.  Neither the officers nor the men swore; they spoke to each other in gentle tones, as though the tribulations through which they had passed had softened their hearts, and bound them together in a holier than earthly affection.

As Mr. Watts and three sailors had died, the vessel was short-handed, but not crippled; and the captain decided to prosecute his voyage without putting into any port for assistance.  Mr. Lincoln was appointed chief mate, and a second mate was selected from the forecastle.  Everything went along as before the storm burst upon the devoted vessel.

“How happy I am, Noddy!” exclaimed Mollie, as they sat on deck one afternoon, when she had nearly recovered her strength.  “My father was saved, and I am saved.  How grateful I am!”

“So am I, Mollie,” replied Noddy.

“And how much we both owe to you!  Wasn’t it strange you didn’t take the fever?”

“I think it was.”

“Were you not afraid of it?”

“I didn’t think anything about it, any way; but I feel just as though I had gone through with the fever, or something else.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know; everything looks odd and strange to me.  I don’t feel like the same fellow.”

Mollie persisted in her desire to know how the cabin-boy felt, and Noddy found it exceedingly difficult to describe his feelings.  Much of the religious impressions which he had derived from the days of tribulation still clung to him.  His views of life and death had changed.  Many of Bertha’s teachings, which he could not understand before, were very plain to him now.  He did not believe it would be possible for him to do anything wrong again.  Hopes and fears had been his incentives to duty before; principle had grown up in his soul now.  The experience of years seemed to be crowded into the few short days when gloom and death reigned in the vessel.

The Roebuck sped on her way, generally favored with good weather and fair winds.  She was a stanch vessel, and behaved well in the few storms she encountered.  She doubled Cape Horn without subjecting her crew to any severe hardships, and sped on her way to more genial climes.  For several weeks after his recovery, Captain McClintock kept very steady, and Mollie hoped that the “evil days” had passed by.  It was a vain hope; for when the schooner entered the Pacific, his excesses were again apparent.  He went on from bad to worse, till he was sober hardly a single hour of the day.  In vain did Mollie plead with him; in vain she reminded him of the time when they had both lain at death’s door; in vain she assured him that she feared the bottle more than the fever.  He was infatuated by the demon of the cup, and seemed to have no moral power left.

The Roebuck was approaching the thick clusters of islands that stud the Pacific; and it was important that the vessel should be skilfully navigated.  Mr. Lincoln was a good seaman, but he was not a navigator; that is, he was not competent to find the latitude and longitude, and lay down the ship’s position on the chart.  The captain was seldom in condition to make an observation, and the schooner was in peril of being dashed to pieces on the rocks.  The mate was fully alive to the difficulties of his position; and he told Mollie what must be the consequences of her father’s continued neglect.  The sea in which they were then sailing was full of islands and coral reefs.  There were indications of a storm, and he could not save the vessel without knowing where she was.

“Noddy,” said the troubled maiden, after Mr. Lincoln had explained the situation to her, “I want you to help me.”

“I’m ready,” replied he, with his usual promptness.

“We are going to ruin.  My poor father is in a terrible state, and I am going to do something.”

“What can you do?”

“You shall help me, but I will bear all the blame.”

“You would not do anything wrong, and I am willing to bear the blame with you.”

“Never mind that; we are going to do what’s right, and we will not say a word about the blame.  Now come with me,” she continued, leading the way to the cabin.

“I am willing to do anything that is right, wherever the blame falls.”

“We must save the vessel, for the mate says she is in great danger.  There is a storm coming, and Mr. Lincoln don’t know where we are.  Father hasn’t taken an observation for four days.”

“Well, are you going to take one?” asked Noddy, who was rather bewildered by Mollie’s statement of the perils of the vessel.

“No; but I intend that father shall to-morrow.”

“What are you going to do?”

She opened the pantry door, and took from the shelf a bottle of gin.

“Take this, Noddy, and throw it overboard,” said she, handing him the bottle.

“I’ll do that;” and he went to the bull’s eye, in Molli’s state-room, and dropped it into the sea.

“That’s only a part of the work,” said she, as she opened one of the lockers in the cabin, which was stowed full of liquors.

She passed them out, two at a time, and Noddy dropped them all into the ocean.  Captain McClintock was lying in his state-room, in a helpless state of intoxication, so that there was no fear of interruption from him.  Every bottle of wine, ale, and liquor which the cabin contained was thrown overboard.  Noddy thought that the sharks, which swallow everything that falls overboard, would all get “tight;” but he hoped they would break the bottles before they swallowed them.  The work was done, and everything which could intoxicate was gone; at least everything which Mollie and the cabin-boy could find.  They did not tell Mr. Lincoln what they had done, for they did not wish to make him a party to the transaction.

They were satisfied with their work.  The vessel would be saved if the storm held off twelve hours longer.  The captain rose early the next morning, and Noddy, from his berth, saw him go to the pantry for his morning dram.  There was no bottle there.  He went to the locker; there was none there.  He searched, without success, in all the lockers and berths of the cabin.  While he was engaged in the search, Mollie, who had heard him, came out of her room.

The captain’s hand shook, and his whole frame trembled from the effects of his long-inebriation.  His nerves were shattered, and nothing but liquor could quiet them.  Mollie could not help crying when she saw to what a state her father had been reduced.  He was pale and haggard; and when he tried to raise a glass of water to his lips his trembling hand refused its office, and he spilled it on the floor.

“Where is all the liquor, Mollie?” he asked, in shaken, hollow tones.

“I have thrown it all overboard,” she replied, firmly.

He was too weak to be angry with her; and she proceeded to tell him what must be the fate of the vessel, and of all on board, if he did not attend to his duty.  He listened, and promised not to drink another drop; for he knew then, even when his shattered reason held but partial sway, that he would be the murderer of his daughter and of his crew, if the vessel was wrecked by his neglect.  He meant to keep his promise; but the gnawing appetite, which he had fostered and cherished until it became a demon, would not let him do so.  In the forenoon, goaded by the insatiate thirst that beset him, he went into the hold, which could be entered from the cabin, and opened a case of liquors, forming part of the cargo.  He drank long and deep, and lay down upon the merchandise, that he might be near this demon.

Twelve o’clock came, and no observation could be taken.  Mollie looked for her father, and with Noddy’s help she found him in the hold, senseless in his inebriation.  Mr. Lincoln was called down, and he was conveyed to his berth.  The liquor was thrown overboard, but it was too late; before dark the gale broke upon the Roebuck, and fear and trembling were again in the vessel.