“You were right, McKeller,” said the master, as he handed the case bottle to the mate, “the youngster comes from Londonderry, and he brings the message with him. Mayhap ´twill stir up the Colonel at last, and I trust it will, for the sake of Tom Robinson and my sister Marjorie. My God! what that young fellow must have come through; and a gentleman too, as I judge by the gewgaws on his finger.” “Ay,” answered the mate drily, “and you have given him a pint of pure spirits by way of welcome. You´ll hardly hear about Tom Robinson for a while after that.” “Never fear; these long-legged fellows stand a lot of moistening. I wouldn´t for half my share in the good ship Phoenix have missed hearing the lad´s hail this night; he never would have lived through a night in the boat--but he´s beginning to come round.” Gervase showed signs of returning consciousness. His first action was to feel for the precious letter, and then he opened his eyes and looked round him with a gaze of vacant inquiry. “Where am I?” he said. “Why, just aboard the brig _Phoenix_, Andrew Douglas, Master, hailing from Coleraine, and bound with the help of God, for the port of Londonderry; and among your friends if you are what I take you to be. Now don´t trouble your head but just take a drop more of this.” The kindly shipmaster put the bottle to his lips and insisted on his drinking. “Ye´ll kill him,” said the mate; “ye think that everybody has the same stomach for strong waters as yourself. It´s food he wants, I´ll warrant, not drink.” “And food he´ll have,” cried the master excitedly, “when I´ve brought back the colour to his cheeks, and he´ll be on his legs in a twinkling. Here, Jack, you skulking rogue, set out the best there is on board, and make us a bowl of punch, for by ----, I´ll drink the health of the bravest fellow I´ve clapt eyes on for a twelvemonth.” “You would drink with less provocation than that,” said the mate, lifting Gervase to his feet and helping him to a seat. “Now ye can tell us the news from Londonderry, lad, if it´s true ye come from there.” “I came thence to-day--yesterday,” said Gervase. “They can hold out no longer. Where is Colonel Kirke? I must see him immediately.” The master looked at his mate with a broad grin on his face. “Faith ye´ll not see the Colonel to-night, nor early in the morning either. If he´s not abed by this time and as drunk as a lord, he´s on the fair way to it, and swearing like a dragoon with a broken head. He´s a terrible man in his cups, is Kirke, and they keep it up rarely on board the _Swallow_. I love the clink of a glass sometimes myself, but--hoot! there´s no use talking. If you´re able, spin us your yarn while they´re getting you something warm, for you must want a heap of filling out to look like the man you were.”