"Peter, my boy, I'm under great obligations to you. When you were wounded and feverish, you thought of me at a time when you had quite enough to think of yourself; but I never thank in words. I see your uncle William is dead. How many more uncles have you?"
"My uncle John, who is married, and has already two daughters."
"Blessings on him; may he stick to the female line of business! Peter, my boy, you shall be a lord before you die."
"Nonsense, O'Brien; I have no chance. Don't put such foolish ideas in my head."
"What chance had I of being a lieutenant, and am I not one? Well, Peter, you've helped to make a lieutenant of me, but I'll make a _man_ of you, and that's better. Peter, I perceive, with all your simplicity, that you're not over and above simple, and that, with all your asking for advice, you can think and act for yourself on an emergency. Now, Peter, these are talents that must not be thrown away in this cursed hole, and therefore, my boy, prepare yourself to quit this place in a week, wind and weather permitting; that is to say, not fair wind and weather, but the fouler the better. Will you be ready at any hour of any night that I call you up?"
"No man can do much more that ever I heard of. But, Peter, do me one favour, as I am really a lieutenant, just touch your hat to me only once, that's all; but I wish the compliment, just to see how it looks."
"Lieutenant O'Brien," said I, touching my hat, "have you any further orders?"
"Yes, sir," replied he; "that you never presume to touch your hat to me again, unless we sail together, and then that's a different sort of thing."
About a week afterwards, O'Brien came to me, and said, "The new moon's quartered in with foul weather; if it holds, prepare for a start. I have put what is necessary in your little haversack; it may be to-night. Go to bed now, and sleep for a week if you can, for you'll get but little sleep, if we succeed, for the week to come."