Up we went, gripping the swaying ropes with toes and fingers, till we reached the main-top, where I was allowed to creep through the “Lubber’s Hole,” and Francis swung himself neatly over the outside edge of the top, and there he and I stood for a few minutes to rest.

I cannot say I derived much comfort from his favourable comments on my first attempt.  I was painfully absorbed by realizing that to climb what is steady, and to climb what is swaying with every wave, are quite different things.  Then, in spite of warnings, I was fascinated by the desire to look down; and when I looked I felt more uncomfortable than ever; the ship’s deck was like a dancing tea-tray far below; my legs and arms began to feel very light, and my head heavy, and I did not hear what Francis was saying to me, so he pinched my arm and then repeated it.

“Come along—­and if the other chaps put any larks on you, keep your eyes open, and never lose a grip by one hand somewhere.  So long as you hold on to some of the ship’s ropes you’re bound to find your way back somehow.”

“I’ll try,” I said.

Then through the confusion in my head I heard a screaming whistle, and a voice from beneath, and Francis pricked his ears, and then suddenly swung himself back on to the ladder of ropes by which we had climbed.

“Lucky for you, young shaver,” said he.  “Come along!”

I desired no more definite explanation.  Francis was going down, and I willingly did the same, but when my foot touched the deck I staggered and fell.  It was Mr. Johnson who picked me up by the neck of my slops, saying, as he did so, “Boatswain!  The captain will give an extra lot of grog to drink Mr. O’Moore’s good health.”

This announcement was received with a cheer, and I heard the boatswain calling to “stow your cleaning-tackle, my lads, and for’ards to the break of the fo’c’sle.  Them that has white ties and kid gloves can wear ’em; and them that’s hout of sech articles must come as they can.  Pick up that tar-pot, ye fool!  Now are ye all coming and bringing your voices along with ye?  Hany gentleman as ’as ‘ad the misfortin’ to leave his music behind will oblige the ship’s company with an ex-tem-por.”

“Long life to ye, bo’sun; it’s a neat hand at a speech ye are, upon my conscience!” cried Dennis, over my shoulder, and then his arm was around it, shaking with laughter, as we were hurried along by the eager crowd.

“He’s a wag, that old fellow, too.  Come along, little Jack!  You’re mighty shaky on your feet, considering the festivities that we’re bound for.  Step it out, my boy, or I’ll have to carry ye.”

“Are ye coming to the fo’c’sle?” said I, being well aware that this was equivalent to a drawing-room visitor taking tea in the kitchen.  “You know it’s where the common sailors, and Alister and I have our meals?” I added, for his private ear.

“Thank ye for the hint.  I know it’s where I hope to meet the men that offered their lives for mine.”