“How did you do it? Did you roll out of your hammock? I heard an awful fall of something out here just now,” added Rushington, whose voice seemed to melt with sympathy for the afflicted cook of the mess. Spriggs made no reply to these direct questions; for we doubt not his conscience was as sore as his foot. One of the ship’s corporals on duty upon the berth-deck presently appeared, and demanded the cause of the disturbance. “Spriggs has tumbled out of his hammock,” replied Rushington. “The ship gave a lee-lurch, and pitched him out.” “Oh, my foot!” groaned Spriggs. “I don’t exactly see how you could smash your foot tumbling out of a hammock,” added the ship’s corporal. “There aren’t a very heavy sea runnin’ just here alongside the wharf, nuther.” “I didn’t fall out of the hammock,” said Spriggs in savage tones. “Didn’t you? Then maybe you can tell how it happened.” “I don’t know what it was: somebody dropped a shot on my foot.” “What were you doing here?” demanded the officer of police. Spriggs declined to answer this question; and the unpitying official, for some reason or other, did not press the question, but ordered the sufferer to come with him to the hospital, and have the injured member examined. “I can’t walk,” sighed Spriggs, as he attempted to rise. “My foot is smashed to a jelly, I tell you!” “If that’s so, Spriggs, I reckon you’d better stick to your hammock another time, and not go skylarking about decks at this hour of the night,” added Rushington, whose advice was certainly good and well meant. “If you can’t walk, we will carry you to the sick-bay.” The ship’s corporal and the seamen picked up the discomfited conspirator, and bore him to the hospital. As soon as they had disappeared, Blinks carefully concealed the ropeyarn by which the cannon-ball had been suspended; and, having repaired as well as he could the damage to Jack’s hammock, they all turned in, and slept without further disturbance. Spriggs was confined to the sick-bay for a week; and it was a month before he could walk without limping. On his return to the mess, he seemed to be satisfied, and treated his companions with proper respect and consideration. When he came back, Jack was taking his turn as cook of the mess; a position in which each man in succession serves for one week. He felt that his predecessor in office had been amply “sarved out;” and, though he did not like the man, he wished to be at peace with him. He treated him respectfully and kindly, and used every means in his power to conciliate him. His efforts were not in vain; for, before our hero left the receiving-ship, Spriggs had forgiven, and perhaps forgotten, the past: at any rate, they were on as good terms as two persons not mutually respecting each other could be.