The next morning he awoke with a strange sense of unreality and of having dropped a day somewhere.

As he lay in his stuffy little bunk between decks, and felt the rolling of the pilot-boat under him, he still fancied himself upon the _Mazatlan_; he felt the pain in his bandaged thumb and wondered how it came there.

Then his fall on the deck came back to him, the wreck of the steamer, the excitement on board, the reports of the rifle fired as a minute gun, the clouds of steam that smelt of a great laundry, and the drowning of the little Jew of the plush cap with the ear-laps.

He shuddered and grew sick again for a minute, telling himself that he would never forget that scene.
Such of the passengers as could get about breakfasted as best they could in the cabin with the boatkeeper and four of the pilots.

Here they were informed as to what was to be done with them.