Tommy, however, looking very ashamed, blurted out, "I went to sleep, sir, and Glover got up without waking me."
That made Mr. Parker all the more angry, and he sent us both below.
"Both of you will go back to the Laird. Have your chest ready in half an hour!" he said, snapping our heads off.
We saw the Laird steaming to meet us, and went below again, feeling absolutely wretched, and commenced slowly to stow our things away in the chest which Tommy shared with me.
The next thing we knew was that we were being roughly shaken by Pat Jones, and we woke to find that we had both been asleep. Tommy was sprawled right across the chest, face downwards, with a pair of boots in his hand.
We could have cried, we were so angry with ourselves.
A cutter from the Laird was alongside, and we two and Tomlinson, the wounded man, were pulled across to her, Mr. Parker coming too to make his report.
As we went up the gangway we could hardly face all the midshipmen who crowded round us—Mellins, and Dumpling, and all the others—we felt so much in disgrace, and I had not even the heart to tell them that I'd been wounded.
I had to hobble for'ard to the sick-bay, and the bandage was taken off my leg.
"Just a skin wound, Glover," Dr. Fox said, and put in some stitches, which didn't pain me half as much as I expected.