he face of the American captain, bore out his
remark in some sense, as they appeared feminine in character, although
wanting in expression and intelligence more strangely.

"Seems dazed to me, Cap'en Blowser," observed the mate.

"So he does. But no wonder, Seth," replied the skipper. "Get him a
drop of brandy, steward. That may bring him to himself more than he is
at present."

The steward fetched the brandy quickly in a glass, and putting it to the
boy's lips, as he raised his head from the locker on which he had been
laid, made him drink a few drops, causing the faint colour to return
more strongly to his face. But that was all, however, for he still
gazed alternately at the captain and mate, and the steward who had just
ministered to him, with the same fixed, expressionless gaze.

"He has seen death, Cap'en Blowser," said the mate, solemnly. "I've
noticed that same look on a chap's face before, when he was dug out of a
mine, where he had been banked up with others through its falling in,
and never expected to see God's daylight again! He'd jest that same
identical expression in his eyes, though they warn't as big nor as
handsome as this poor lad's--jest as if he was a lookin' through you at
somethin' beyant!"

"It kinder skearts me," said the captain, turning away from the boy with
a slight shiver. "Let's come on deck, Seth. I guess he'll do now, with
a bit of grub, and a good sleep before the stove. Mind you look after
him well, steward; and you can turn him into my cot, if you like, and
give him a clean rig out."

"Yes, sah, I hear," replied the steward, who had been trying to get some
more of the spirit down the boy's throat.

But he started up before the others left the cabin.

"Him wounded, Cap'en Blowser," said the man in an alarmed voice.
"Crikey! I nebber see such a cut!"

"Where?" exclaimed the skipper and mate almost simultaneously, turning
round from the door of the cuddy and coming back to the side of the
locker, on which the boy still lay stretched.

"Here," said the steward, lifting, as he spoke, the long clustering
curls of hair from the forehead of the rescued lad, and laying bare a
great gash that extended right across the frontal bone, and which they
must have seen before but for the encrustation of salt, from the waves
washing over him, which had matted the bright brown locks together over
the cut and likewise stopped the bleeding.

"Jerusalem! It is a sheer, and no mistake