"Seems to be coming to, don't he?"
"Not quite. Better leave him alone a bit longer."
Was I dead, and were these voices of another world? Hardly. They had a
homely and British intonation which savoured too much of this one. Then
I grew confused, and dozed off again.
Was I dreaming, or where was I? shaped out the next thought as I heard
the voices again. Lying with closed eyes, returning consciousness began
to assert itself. A certain heaving movement, which could be produced
by nothing else than a ship at sea, made itself felt--a movement not
unknown to me, for I had made a voyage to Australia and back earlier in
my hitherto uneventful career--and a pounding, vibrating sound, which
jarred somewhat roughly upon my awakened nerves, told that the vessel
was a steamship. Opening my eyes drowsily, I saw that I was lying in a
bunk, and the fresh air blowing in through an open skylight was breezy
and salt. There was no mistaking my present quarters. I was in a
ship's cuddy. A table, covered with a faded cloth of many colours,
stood in the middle of the room, and the slant of an apparently useless
pillar running from floor to ceiling, and through the same, could only
be that of a mast.
"Feeling better now, sir?"
Two men had glided into the room and were watching me. One was tall,
slim, and well made, with a clear-cut face and dark pointed beard, the
other red and broad and burly; and when they spoke I recognised the
voices I had heard before.
"Yes, thanks. At least I think so," I answered faintly.
"Better give him a tot of rum. That'll bring him to," said the broad
red man, in a voice that rumbled.
"Not much. Grog on top of that whack on the head he got would be the
death of him. Oh, steward! tell the doctor to send along that broth,"
he called out to some one outside.
"Where am I?" was my next and obvious question.
"Board the _Kittiwake_, bound for East London. Cargo, iron rails,"
answered the broad red man.
"Let's see. You ran me down, didn't you?" I said confusedly.
"Run you down? Well, sonny, you lurched your ironclad against our bows
in a way that was reckless. And you warn't carrying no lights neither,
which is clean contrary to Board o' Trade regulations, and dangerous to
shippin'."
"What a narrow squeak I must have had. Are you the captain?"
"No, sir. This here's the captain, Captain John Morrissey," and he
turned to the good-looking, dark-bearded man, whom at first I had taken
for the ship's surgeon.
"Narrow squeak's hardly the word for it, Mr Holt," said this man in a
pleasant voice. "It's more of a miracle than I've seen in all my
experience of sea-going. Ah, I see the doctor has sent you your broth;
you'd better take it, and I wouldn't talk too much just yet, if I were
you."
"You carry a doctor, then. Are you a liner?"
Both laughed at this.
"No, no, Mr Holt," answered the captain. "Doctor's a seafaring term
for the ship's cook, and I believe in this instance you'll find his
prescriptions do you more good than those of the real medico."
I sipped the broth, and felt better; but still had a very confused, not
to say achy, feeling about the head, and again began to feel drowsy.
"I suppose I'll be all right by the time we get in," I said. "Right
enough to land, shan't I?"
The broad red man rumbled out a deep guffaw. The captain's face took on
a strange look--comical and warning at the same time.
"You'll be all right long before we get in, Mr Holt," he said. "Now,
if you take my advice, you'll go to sleep again."
I did take it, and I must have slept for a long time. Once or twice I
half woke, and it seemed to be night, for all was dark save for a faint
light coming in through the closed portholes, and the lulling rocking
movement and swish of the water soon sent me off again. Even the throb
of the propeller was soothing in its regularity.
"You've had a good sleep, sir. Feel better this morning, sir?"
It was broad daylight, and the motion of the ship had changed to a very
decided roll. I sat up in my bunk.
"Shall we be in soon, steward?" I asked, recognising that functionary.
"Be in soon? Why, hardly, sir," he answered, looking puzzled. "We
don't touch nowhere."
"No, I suppose not. But where are we now?"
"Well into the Bay."
"The Bay! What Bay?"
"Bay o' Biscay, sir," he replied, looking as though he thought the
effects of my buffeting had impaired my reasoning faculties.
"Bay of Biscay!" I echoed. "The Channel, you mean. The captain said
we were bound for East London."
"So we are, sir, and we're heading there at nine knots an hour. We
shan't do so much, though, if this sou'wester keeps up."
An idea struck me, but it was a confused one.
"Steward," I said, sitting bolt upright. "Will you oblige me with a
piece of information. Where the devil _is_ East London?"
"Eastern end of the Cape Colony, Mr Holt; and a bad port of call,
whichever way you take it."
The answer came from the captain, who entered at that moment. The
steward went on with his occupation, that of laying the table for
breakfast.
"Great Scott!" I cried, as the truth dawned upon me. "But--"
"I see how it stands," said the captain with a smile. "You thought East
London meant the East India Docks. I didn't set you right at the time,
because you might have got into a state of excitement, and rest was the
word just then. Now I think you are fairly on your legs again."
"But--botheration! I don't want to take a voyage to the Cape. I
suppose you can put me ashore somewhere, so I can get back."
"I'm afraid not. We don't touch anywhere. But I think even the voyage
is the lesser evil of the two. Better than lying at the bottom of the
Channel, I mean."
"Well, certainly. Don't think me ungrateful, Captain Morrissey; but
this will mean a lot to me. I shall lose my berth, for one thing."
"Even that isn't worse than losing your life, and you had a narrow
squeak of that. By the way, were you sculling across the Channel for a
bet?"
"Haw, haw, haw!" rumbled the broad red man, who had rolled in in time to
catch this question.
I joined in the laugh, and told them how I came to be found in such a
precarious plight. Then I learned how my rescue had been effected, and
indeed miraculous hardly seemed the word for it. But that the steamer
was going dead slow in the fog, and I had clung to her straight stern
with the grip of death, I should have been crushed down beneath her and
cut to pieces by the propeller. Even then they had hauled me on board
with difficulty. The boat, of course, had been knocked to matchwood.
"You had a gold watch and chain upon you, a pocket-book, and some
money?" said the captain. "How much was there?"
"Let me see; five pounds and some change. I forget how much."
The captain disappeared through a door, and immediately re-entered.
"Count that," he said.