There should have been many things; for the forecastle of a ship was as familiar to Holdsworth as any part of her; and though, when he had first gone to sea, he had slept in a cabin near his father’s, he had spent the greater part of his time forward among the men, taking instructions from them in all kinds of seafaring work, and never more happy than when squatting on a chest, plying a marlin spike, and listening to the yarns of the sailors around him. The boatswain watched him with looks of interest, which faded into disappointment. “Is there nothing?” he asked. “Nothing,” said Holdsworth gazing blankly around him. “But you know those things are called hammocks?” “Yes, I can tell you the names of everything that I see, but that don’t help me.” “Well I _am_ blowed!” muttered the boatswain, under his breath; whereupon Holdsworth, thanking him for the trouble he had taken, withdrew, pained by the glances and whispers of the men, and rendered nervous and dispirited by the smells, the fight in the corner, and the strong movement of the ship, felt here more than anywhere else. CHAPTER XVII. A PRESENTATION. Not knowing how to address or speak to Holdsworth, the skipper and Mr. Sherman and the others called him Mr. H., that letter being all they knew of his name. He was treated by captain and officers with great kindness, shared their table, and was even furnished by them with clothes, of which, you may conceive, he stood very much in need. None of them could doubt that he had friends, that he held a position, that he might have money; and they waited day after day for the return of his memory, which was to solve the mystery his silence wrought, and set him square with the world again. Indeed, his utter incapacity to recall the smallest incident connected with his past, was almost provoking, despite its pathos. Captain Duff wanted to know the name of the vessel that had been wrecked, the port she hailed from, the port she had been bound to, her cargo, who her captain was. How astounding to this healthy little man that such plain and easy questions should provoke no replies. Perhaps, had he been kept without food and water for six or seven days, subjected to a long series of appalling mental tortures, exposed on the sea in an open boat that was scarcely visible a mile off, with Death the skeleton for a helmsman, he might have moderated his wonderment--nay, even admitted that such experiences were not only highly calculated to deprive a man of his memory, but to drive him raving mad for the remainder of his life. But the barque was drawing near her journey’s end, in long. 120°. The pale outline of Van Diemen’s land must heave in sight shortly away on the port bow.