"Well; try, man," I cried. "Think about trouble. What trouble was it?"

"No, sir, I dunno," he cried, after a pause. "We're aboard the Burgh
Castle still, arn't we?"

"I don't know," I began. "Yes, of course we are, and we must be down in
the hold. It's coming now, I think. Why did we come down here? Surely
one of you must know."

"It arn't likely, sir, if you don't," growled Dumlow.

"But what were we in trouble about?" I said, for--I cannot describe
it--there was the thick feeling of something having happened; but
strange as it may seem, neither I nor the men could make anything out
about what had preceded our unnatural sleep.

"It's a rum 'un," said Bob Hampton at last. "I dunno. It's a rum 'un."

"But cannot either of you think at all?" I cried in agony. "It seems
so horrible to be here like this in black darkness, and not know how or
why."

"Or what?" suggested Bob.

"I think I've got it now," said Dumlow.

"Yes; what is it?"

"All gone mad wi' being so much out in the sun."

"You may be mad, Neb, I arn't, and I don't mean to. I'll take my trick
at the wheel and box the compass with any on yer. Wheel--wheel," he
added, thoughtfully--"steering. Why arn't I at the wheel now?"

"'Cause you're here, messmate," said Dumlow.

"But I was a-steering when you comes, Mr Dale, sir, and brings me a
plate o' wittles, and you says, says you--"

"Oh!" I cried excitedly.

"No, you didn't, sir, beggin' your parding; you says something about
could I steer and eat too, and I says--no, you says--no, it was I says;
well, it was one or t'other of us, I can't quite 'member which says,
`put it on the binnacle,'--and it was put there, and I ate it, and it
was very good."

"Oh!" I cried again, as I pressed my temples with my hands, for I could
see a faint gleam of light peeping through into my head, or so it
seemed; but it kept on dying out again, and I was blank of memory again
as ever.

"Did you say wittles?" cried Dumlow, suddenly.

"Ay, mate, I did."

"Why, I 'members something 'bout wittles. O' course. Me and you, Bob."

"When? Where?"

"Ah, I dunno when it was, nor wheer it was, but--"

"She's dying--she's dying," I cried; for those words came cutting
through the black silence, and gave me quite a pang.

"Who's she? And what's she a-dying for?" growled Bob Hampton.

"Toe be sure, mate," said Dumlow, "that's what Mr Denning says as he
come out of his cabin. `She's dying,' he says,