After seeing it again and again, he felt that he understood what it was. He had been drowned, and they were coming with a lanthorn to look for his body; but they never found it, though they came and stood talking about him over and over again.
At last he heard what was said quite plainly, but he only knew one voice out of the three that spoke, and he could not make out whose that was.
The voice said, “Better, sir, to-day;” and another voice said, “Oh yes, you’re getting all right now: head’s healing nicely. The sooner you get up on deck and find your sea-legs the better.”
“Oh, I shall be all right there, sir.”
“Been to sea before?”
“In fishing craft, sir—often. But would you mind telling me, sir, where we’re going?”
“Oh, you’ll know soon enough, my lad. Well: America and the West Indies.”
“This must be a dream,” thought Nic; and he was lying wondering, when the light was suddenly held close to him, and he could see over his head beams and planks and iron rings and ropes, which made it all more puzzling than ever.
Then a cool hand touched his brow, and it seemed as if a bandage was removed, cool water laved the part which ached and burned, and a fresh bandage was fastened on.
“Won’t die, will he, sir?” said the voice Nic knew but could not quite make out.