“You shall have some more, boy, when I have done a-cleaning you,” said Tom.
The rest of the crew sat round making remarks, but not even offering to assist their shipmate, evidently perfectly indifferent as to what happened to me, though perhaps curious to see whether I should revive under the treatment to which I was being subjected. Judging by the colour of the water after I had been washed in it, I must have been as black as a coal. I rather think Julius Caesar must have fancied that I was one of his own race, and must have been greatly astonished at seeing a blackamoor washed white. When the operation was concluded, Growles again came and had a look at me.
“Why, I do believe it’s none other than the young chap who came aboard us at Liverpool,” he exclaimed. “I thought as when I saw him so often that he was up to something, but never fancied that he was going to stow himself away, or I should have been on the watch for him. Well, he’ll have to pay pretty smartly for the trick he has played us.”
My friend Tom took no notice of this and similar remarks made by others of the crew; but after having again fed me, he called to a stout-looking lad who was coming forward from the companion-hatchway to assist in carrying me to his berth under the topgallant forecastle. The lad, without hesitation, did as he was directed, and took up my legs, while Tom lifted me by the arms. As I was being carried along, my eyes turned towards the lad who was stepping backwards, when I at once recognised him as Mark Riddle, though he looked very different to the smart young chap he was when I last saw him, and he evidently did not know me.
“Can’t you find a shirt and a pair of trousers for the poor fellow?” cried Tom; “his own want washing terribly.”
Mark ran aft, and in a short time returned with the garments, in which Tom clothed me.
Notwithstanding the food which had been given me, I was still too weak to speak. He and Tom lifted me into an upper bunk on the starboard side. As he did so, I stretched out my hand and seized his, which I pressed between my bony fingers. I could just say, “Thank you, Mark.” He looked at me very hard, but still did not seem to have a suspicion who I was. This was not surprising, as he did not even know that I had gone to Liverpool. I was so altered, that even my mother would scarcely have recognised me. He, however, asked Tom Trivett who I was. Tom replied that I was a young stowaway, but that he knew no more about me than did the man in the moon.
“Go and fetch the remainder of the broth,” I heard Tom say. “A little more will do him good, and then if he gets a sound sleep he’ll come round, I have a notion.”
“If he does, it will only be to lead a dog’s life,” murmured Mark, as he left to get the broth.
Tom stood by me arranging the blankets, and trying to make me comfortable till Mark returned with some soup, with some biscuits and rice floating in it. Though I could drink the liquid, it was with difficulty that I could masticate the latter, but I managed to get down a few pieces.