then my heart gave a bound, for he exclaimed--

"Here's plenty o' room here, sir, just at the top, but it goes aft.
This can't be toward the bows. But it was this way as the knocking
came, warn't it?"

"No, no, no," we all cried. "The other way."

"Look at that," growled Bob. "My head can't be right yet, or else it's
the darkness as confooses a man. It's like being in a thick fog and
having to steer."

"Try again," I said.

"Ay, ay, sir; I'll try again, o' course."

"I say, don't kneel on a man's chesty like that, messmate," grumbled
Dumlow.

"Then why don't you put your chesty somewheres else?" growled Bob.
"You're allers lying about all over the deck."

"Nay, I arn't, matey," remonstrated Dumlow. "Speak the truth, my lad,
if you can."

"Why, you're spreadin' about on your back now, arn't yer?"

"Course I am, mate; I was trying how flat I could make myself 'fore I
started on the adwenter."

"Try, pray try the other way, Bob, and don't quarrel so--"

"Now hark at that, Barney, when I'm trying all I can to be as civil and
smooth as butter, on'y Neb let out at me."

There was a pause, and we could hear Bob grunting as he felt about in
the other direction, sending joy into all our hearts directly, just as
the tapping began again.

"It's just as I said, Mr Dale, sir," he whispered. "The knocking comes
along over the cargo here, and there is just room for a man to creep
along."

"Hush! let me answer the knocking first," I whispered.

"Never mind the knocking, sir; let's get to 'em 'fore we misses the
chance. Now, Neb, lad; ready?"

"Ready it is, messmate."

"Here you are then; on'y go face downwards."

"Would yer? Can't breathe so well if you turns yer fizzy mahogany
down."

"And yer can't crawl so well if yer goes with it up."

"You had better crawl, Dumlow," I whispered; "but try and go straight
toward where the knocking came from."

"He'll be 'bliged to, sir. No doubt about that, 'cause there arn't no
other way. Now then, I'll give yer a hyste. Can you manage it?"

There was a loud breathing and panting, and though Barney Blane and I
could see nothing with our eyes, yet we could mentally picture the great
slow-moving sailor crawling into an aperture between the beams and the
heterogeneous stowing of bales and boxes, casks and crates of all kinds
of goods en route for our destination.

Now we knew that his head and chest were in, for his voice came in a
half-smothered tone.

"