w my arm shot away, ship's
company lose fiddler; for how I fiddle without arm? And suppose no
fiddler, how anchor got up? how ship go to sea? and how take prize? and
how dance and be merry? No, no; you men no signify--go and be shot. I
berry important--take care of self."

Accordingly, Sam being the guide, the party set out with proper
authority to look for the missing Gipples. They searched in every
vacant space in the cable tier, and in every accessible spot in the
hold, among the water-casks and more bulky stores not under lock and
key; but no Gregory was forthcoming.

Fid began to fear that his forebodings would prove true. One spot,
however, had to be visited, commonly called the coal-hole. It was very
dark and close, and not a place that any one would willingly pass a day
in.

They thought that every corner had been explored, when, just as they
were retiring, Fid heard a suppressed groan. He started, and, had he
been alone, he felt that he should not have liked it; but he was a brave
little fellow, especially in company with others; so he stopped and
listened, and called Sam, who held the lantern, to examine the spot
whence the groan had proceeded.

There was a loose pile of firewood in one corner; and, on examining it,
there was no doubt that it had slipped over during the night. "He or
his ghost is under there," said Fid, pointing to it.

"Even if it's his ghost, it's not a pleasant place to be in!" exclaimed
True Blue, setting to work to remove the logs.

This was soon accomplished; and there, sure enough, black as a sweep
from the coal dust, and bruised with the logs, lay not the ghost of
Gipples, but Gipples himself, terribly frightened with the idea that he
was looked-for only that he might be drawn forth to be punished.

"Oh, lagged--lagged!" he exclaimed bitterly. "I'll not do it again--
indeed I won't, your worship. Just let me off this once. Oh do!"

"What's the fellow singing out about?" exclaimed Sam. "Just you come
out. No one's going to hurt you. Just wash yourself and come and have
some breakfast. You look pretty near dead already."

The truth was that the poor wretch was already out of his wits with
fright, starvation, and sleepiness, and had a very confused idea of
where he was or what had happened.

Sam Smatch now acted the part of a good Samaritan towards him. He got
him up on the lower-deck, and then went and called the doctor, and said
that he had found him bruised