He turned and looked downwards.

“Are you bringing that gantline?” he sang out.

“Yes, Sir,” I heard one of the men answer.

A moment later, I saw the man’s head appear over the top.  He had the tail-block slung round his neck, and the end of the gantline over his shoulder.

Very soon we had the gantline rigged, and Tom down on deck.  Then we took him into the fo’cas’le and put him in his bunk.  The Second Mate had sent for some brandy, and now he started to dose him well with it.  At the same time a couple of the men chafed his hands and feet.  In a little, he began to show signs of coming round.  Presently, after a sudden fit of coughing, he opened his eyes, with a surprised, bewildered stare.  Then he caught at the edge of his bunk-board, and sat up, giddily.  One of the men steadied him, while the Second Mate stood back, and eyed him, critically.  The boy rocked as he sat, and put up his hand to his head.

“Here,” said the Second Mate, “take another drink.”

Tom caught his breath and choked a little; then he spoke.

“By gum!” he said, “my head does ache.”

He put up his hand, again, and felt at the lump on his forehead.  Then he bent forward and stared round at the men grouped about his bunk.

“What’s up?” he inquired, in a confused sort of way, and seeming as if he could not see us clearly.

“What’s up?” he asked again.

“That’s just what I want to know!” said the Second Mate, speaking for the first time with some sternness.

“I ain’t been snoozin’ while there’s been a job on?” Tom inquired, anxiously.

He looked round at the men appealingly.

“It’s knocked ’im dotty, strikes me,” said one of the men, audibly.

“No,” I said, answering Tom’s question, “you’ve had—­”

“Shut that, Jessop!” said the Second Mate, quickly, interrupting me.  “I want to hear what the boy’s got to say for himself.”

He turned again to Tom.

“You were up at the fore royal,” he prompted.

“I carn’t say I was, Sir,” said Tom, doubtfully.  I could see that he had not gripped the Second Mate’s meaning.

“But you were!” said the Second, with some impatience.  “It was blowing adrift, and I sent you up to shove a gasket round it.”

“Blowin’ adrift, Sir?” said Tom, dully.

“Yes! blowing adrift.  Don’t I speak plainly?”

The dullness went from Tom’s face, suddenly.

“So it was, Sir,” he said, his memory returning.  “The bloomin’ sail got chock full of wind.  It caught me bang in the face.”

He paused a moment.

“I believe—­” he began, and then stopped once more.

“Go on!” said the Second Mate.  “Spit it out!”

“I don’t know, Sir,” Tom said.  “I don’t understand—­”

He hesitated again.

“That’s all I can remember,” he muttered, and put his hand up to the bruise on his forehead, as though trying to remember something.