"Where am I?"
"On board the California, to be sure."
"I'm dreaming," said the admiral, "that's what it is. To be sure, I'm dreaming."
There was something in his accent as he made this statement that roused curiosity in the others.
"No, you ain't—not much," said the first man who had spoken; "and even if you was, I guess Simpson will wake you. Rouse up before he comes along again. He was in here an hour back inquiring for the trumpet of the Day of Judgment to rouse you. Come along, Deane! Now then!"
"My name's Dunn," said the admiral, with contracted brows.
"Devil doubt it," said his friend; "and who done you? Was it Shanghai Smith?"
The admiral sat up suddenly, and by so doing brought his head into violent contact with the deck above him. This woke him thoroughly, just in time to receive Mr. Simpson, mate of the California, who came in like a cyclone to inquire after his health.
"Did you ship as a dead man?" asked Mr. Simpson, "for if you did, I'll undeceive you."
And with that he yanked the admiral from his bunk, and dragged him by the collar out upon the deck at a run. Mr. Simpson was "bucko" to his finger-tips, and had never been licked upon the high seas. But for that matter Vice-Admiral Sir Richard Dunn, K.C.B., had never hauled down his flag either to any man. It surprised him, as it would have surprised any of his crew, to find that he took this handling almost meekly. But then no one knows what he would do if the sky fell; and as far as the admiral was concerned, the entire world was an absurd and ridiculous nightmare. He rose at the end of his undignified progress and stared at the mate.