One by one, as the ship descended, the unconscious crew regained their senses, and for the most part looked about them in the most bewildered manner. For they were piled indiscriminately about the gallery, crew and passengers mixed together inextricably. Nor had they entirely escaped damage, as might well be expected. Some were severely bruised by the manner in which the sloping deck had caused them to slide, while Larkin was quite angry. He was fully conscious, and had just dragged himself from beneath the somewhat ponderous frame of the grinning Hurst. His nose was bleeding, as was the case with many of them; but that was not the cause of his agitation. One eye was closed, and the cheek beneath beautifully swollen.
"Of all the mean tricks," he was growling, "of all the mean, dirty games to play on a fellow when he's fallen, this is it. What do yer mean, young feller?"
But Hurst still grinned placidly at him. He was, to speak the truth, barely more than semi-conscious. A delicious feeling of fatigue assailed him, and had he had his own way he would have lain there in the passage and fallen into a sound slumber. That is, as soon as he had finished with Private Larkin. He was sleepily admiring that hero at this precise moment. He didn't exactly know how it was that he and the noble Larkin had become so mixed up together. Perhaps they had been for a spree ashore, and here was the consequence. But this his addled senses could take in, and it afforded him huge amusement—Private Larkin's none too handsome face was swollen to the proportions of a pumpkin, and the distension beneath that eye was as green as possible. There remained but one orb then, a staring orb, which had fastened itself indignantly, even threateningly, upon the sailor, moreover Hurst could tell that it was the one that habitually squinted. What wonder that he could not take the angry Larkin seriously?
"If you don't look handsome, not 'arf," he interjected. "Jest you get movin' on yer two flat feet and take a squint at yer phiz in that there mirror. You'll see a sight there that'll scare yer. No, no! I ain't asking you to look away in the corner. The mirror's there, above yer ugly head, and lor, you just take care that you don't go right off and crack it."
The situation was becoming a little strained before the Major pulled himself together, helped the Commander to his feet, and separated the two who had been speaking. Then they went to Mr. Andrew, whom they found soundly asleep, breathing as gently as any child, and undoubtedly unharmed by his late experience. Joe, too, was on his feet now, while Hawkins had put in an appearance.
"I'm owin' one more to Mr. Dicky," he told his chums, as they clustered in the gallery and eagerly discussed this late happening. "I just did the most almighty skid you could dream of. I can remember the ship rolling and sending me quick right across to the railing. Then I slid back again, and I can feel now the grip that Mr. Dicky got of my collar. After that there was darkness, till of a sudden my eyes opened. Bless you, lads, that there Mr. Midshipman Hamshaw has saved the whole sitivation; by hisself he's done it. And if it hadn't ha' been for him, and his pluck, and what not, there wouldn't be a airship now, no, nor any of us covies. Larkin, you ain't called for to speak. I know what you was thinkin' of saying. That Mr. Alec'd have been as good. I agrees, so the wind's taken completely out of your sails, and there ain't no call for an argument. But though he'd have had the pluck, he didn't have the senses. It takes a hard chap to stand what we've been through. Understand me, lad; it takes a sailor—now, just you stop jawin'."
It was merely a passing pleasantry between the two services, and the pugnacious Larkin perforce closed his lips and sulked for a moment. But it was only for a moment; for within a little while the crew were gathered in their own quarters partaking of their evening meal, and so preparing themselves for the hard work now expected of them. In the saloon Mr. Andrew and his friends gathered about the table, while Sergeant Evans waited upon them as if nothing out of the ordinary had happened, and as if it were a mere uninteresting item in the day's performance that he himself, but two hours earlier, had been stretched senseless in his own pantry, his face a dusky blue, his nose and ears bleeding, and his pulse beating at a pace which would have alarmed the most hopeful of practitioners.
But if he said nothing, Andrew and Joe and their guests were full of praise of Dicky Hamshaw.
"'Pon my word, I'm proud of him as a brother officer," cried the Commander cordially. "Tell us all about it, Dick."
The bashful midshipman recounted what had happened, and how he had overcome the many difficulties which had, one after another, faced him.