"Where are we?" demanded the doctor, of a deep voice from the other side
of the forecastle which had been particularly threatening.
"Barque _Stella,_ o' course," was the reply. "Where'd you think you
was?"
The doctor gripped the edge of his friend's bunk and tried to think;
then, a feeling of nausea overcoming all others, he clambered hurriedly
up the forecastle ladder and lurched to the side of the vessel.
He leaned there for some time without moving, a light breeze cooling his
fevered brow, and a small schooner some little distance from them playing
seesaw, as he closed his eyes to the heaving blue sea. Land was
conspicuous by its absence, and with a groan he turned and looked about
him--at the white scrubbed deck, the snowy canvas towering aloft on
lazily creaking spars, and the steersman leaning against the wheel
regarding the officer who stood near by.
Dr. Carson, feeling a little better, walked sternly aft, the officer
turning round and glancing in surprise at his rags as he approached.
"I beg your pardon," began the doctor, in superior tones.
"And what the devil do you want?" demanded the second officer; "who told
you to come along here?"
"I want to know what this means," said the doctor, fiercely. "How dare
you kidnap us on your beastly bilge-tank?"
"Man's mad," murmured the astonished second officer.
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