As a matter of course the clumsy old Swiftsure was wallowing in the trough of the sea, tossing and tumbling about in a most provoking manner. Captain Harrison was helping his crew of fishermen “shorten” the foresail, when, just as all hands were standing amidships trying to reef without pulling the very reef-points out of the decayed canvas, a queer-looking bundle rolled from under the dory, capsizing one or two of the sailors as it struck them and then rolling into the lee scuppers, where it lay uttering cries of pain.
The crew were absolutely frightened, first at seeing this queer-looking parcel and then at hearing it make a noise, while those who had been knocked down actually fled forward in alarm. Captain Harrison started aft, but on looking back he stopped short, gazed for an instant, first at the dory and then at the bundle in the scuppers, and said as he gave his hat a forcible blow, as if to prevent it from flying off his head in surprise, “I’m blowed if it ain’t a boy!”
Tom looked up as if amazed that he should have been mistaken for other than what he was, and then the rolling of the vessel threw him back again toward the dory, tossing him from one side to the other much as if he had been a rubber ball.
“Where did you come from?” roared Captain Harrison, angry now because he had shown what looked to be fear.
“He come out of the dory,” replied one of the men, for Tom was too much engaged in rolling about the deck to be able to make any reply.
It was impossible for all hands to stand staring at Tom when the foresail needed immediate attention, and the sick runaway was allowed to roll up and down the deck at his own sweet will, or, rather, at the will of the wind, until the Swiftsure was on her course again with reduced canvas. Then Captain Harrison shouted, “Somebody catch that boy before he breaks himself all to pieces and bring him aft here to me.”
In a few moments, but not without considerable difficulty, the captain’s orders were obeyed, and Tom, looking pale and thoroughly wretched, was held up in front of the Swiftsure’s commander.
“Why, you’re Tom Gibson!” exclaimed that gentleman, in surprise.
Tom nodded his head; he could not trust himself to speak.