“Heaven help me!” said Harry to himself. “I was in a queer position before, I’m in a queerer now. Oh! dear me, dear me, I’ll be taken for a stowaway.”
This thought so overcame him, that he almost burst into tears.
Some time afterwards there came towards him with a lantern a red-haired and red-bearded little man. He had a kind and smiling face. He bent down, and Harry sat up on his elbow.
“Don’t move, my sonny,” he said. “You’ll be a bit sick, I suppose?”
“No.”
“No? Well, I’ve brought you a bit of a sandwich, and I don’t know whose watch you’re in, but we always give green hands some days’ grace. I’m the second mate, and I advise you not to turn out to-night, but just to eat your supper and lie still till eight bells in the morning watch.”
“But oh, sir,” cried Harry, “I’m in such a queer position!”
“I’ll remedy that,” said the second mate.
Away he went, and in a minute back he came again, and in his hand a huge flock pillow. This he placed under Harry’s head and shoulders.
“There,” he said, “that’s a better position. Keep still and you won’t get sick, and Harold there will keep you warm.”