“Swanson,” called the skipper, “take charge of this man. You’re the only one can talk to him. Teach him what you can and make him work at something, sharpening spades and irons, or anything else.”
No further incidents of note occurred during the day and the following morning the boys came on deck to find the Hector out of sight of land and rolling majestically to the long, blue swell of the ocean.
“Reckon this is a purty good day to begin breakin’ in the greenies,” remarked Cap’n Pem at breakfast. “Have the starboard boats cleared and ready to lower, Mr. Kemp. It’s mighty good weather for breakin’ of ’em in to the oars arter we’ve had a bit of a set-to with ’em in the riggin’.”
When they reached the deck, Cap’n Pem had Mr. Kemp summon the green men aft, and standing at the break of the poop, he gave them a short harangue on what was expected of them.
The boys felt really sorry for the men, for, with few exceptions, all were deathly seasick, and terribly frightened at their surroundings. Every time the bark rolled, they uttered doleful groans and clutched wildly at the nearest backstay or shroud, and when the old whaleman spoke of going aloft and the poor fellows glanced up at the soaring, lofty mastheads, their faces blanched with terror.
As Cap’n Pem finished speaking, the second mate ordered the men into the rigging. For an instant, they stood hesitating, terrified at the mere thought of climbing the ratlines rocking back and forth to the roll of the bark. But as Mr. Kemp started towards them, a rope’s end in one hand and a belaying pin in the other, the men fled before him, and flattening themselves against the shrouds, crawled up for a few feet above the deck. Only two went further, the pop-eyed youth who the boys had noticed and a huge, gorillalike negro, both of whom ran nimbly to the to’gallant crosstrees and seated themselves as comfortably as if they had been sailors all their lives.
Only one man had remained on deck, a gray-headed old reprobate. “Here you!” yelled Mr. Kemp with an oath, “Get aloft there and be durned quick about it!”
“Not a bit!” replied the old fellow insolently. “’Tis none av thim monkey shines Oi’ll be afther tryin’, an’ me wid me wooden lig!”
The second mate, who had started forward with belaying pin raised threateningly, stopped short and dropped his arm. “Well I’ll be—,” he began and then, turning, he shouted, “Mister Potter, here’s another of ’em—first a dummy an’ next a timber leg! Them sharks must have thought we was a floatin’ horspittel!”
“What’s that ye’re sayin’?” shouted old Pem. “What’s this erbout a timber leg?”