lligrumps, if not wuss."

"A great pity," remarked Peter Jay, who stood at the helm, "that Martin
couldn't hold out a week longer when our turn comes round to run for
Yarmouth."

"It's well we got him shipped off to-day," said Lockley. "That hand of
his would have made him useless before another day was out. It's a long
time for a man in his state to be without help, that run up to Lun'on.
Port your helm a bit, Jay. Is it the _Cormorant_ that's yawin' about
there in that fashion?"

"Ay, it's the _Cormorant_," replied Jay. "I seed her just now a'most
run foul o' the _Butterfly_."

"She'll be foul of us. Hi! Look out!" cried Lockley, becoming excited,
as he saw the _Cormorant_ change her course suddenly, without apparent
reason, and bear straight down upon his vessel.

There was, indeed, no reason for the strange movements of the smack in
question, except that there was at the helm a man who had rendered his
reason incapable of action. With dull, fishy eyes, that stared
idiotically at nothing, his hand on the tiller, and his mind asleep,
Georgie Fox stood on the deck of the _Cormorant_ steering.

"Starboard a bit, Jay," said Lockley, with an anxious look, "she'll
barely clear us."

As he spoke, Fox moved his helm slightly. It changed the course of his
vessel only a little, but that little sufficed to send the cutwater of
the _Cormorant_ straight into the port bows of the _Lively Poll_ with a
tremendous crash, for a smart breeze was blowing at the time. The
bulwarks were cut down to the deck, and, as the _Cormorant_ recoiled and
again surged ahead, the bowsprit was carried away, and part of the
topmast brought down.

Deep and fierce was the growl that burst from Lockley's lips at this
disaster, but that did not mend matters. The result was that the
_Lively Poll_ had to quit the fleet a week before her time of eight
weeks afloat was up, and run to Yarmouth for repairs. Next day,
however, it fell calm, and several days elapsed before she finally made
her port.

Meanwhile Fred Martin reached London, with his feverish complaint
greatly aggravated, and his undressed wound much worse. In London he
was detained some hours by his employers, and then sent on to Yarmouth,
which he reached late in the afternoon, and ultimately in a state of
great suffering and exhaustion, made his way to Gorleston, where his
mother lived.

With his mind in a species of wild whirl, and acute pains darting
through his wounded