Fore and aft from poop to fo'csle stretched the wide deck from which the lofty spars rose like forest giants. The massive bulwarks were shoulder-high, and inboard everything was painted red exactly as in a King's ship. The deck was remarkably clean and in order, ropes coiled, spare spars stowed and lashed, boats in their chocks, crates and other gear secured. A few cannon were lashed to their ringbolts, but the greater part of the battery was mounted on the lower deck under cover. The hundreds of men who had watched us from the bulwarks had all sifted for'ard. We stood in the midst of an open space, with only three others.
One of these three was a very small old man with wispy gray hair and deeply bronzed face, from which his eyes peered intensely blue and childishly simple. He had gold rings in his ears, and his dress was neat and plain.
"My sarvice, captain," he greeted Murray. "Ship's in order, I hope. —— my eyes if we've had so much as a —— o' genuine wind since the —— hussy bore away from ye off the Hook."
The effect of the unspeakable blasphemies which poured with mild intonation from his lips was ridiculous, but nobody appeared to notice it, and I learned afterward that his habit of swearing by the anatomy of the twelve apostles and various saints and sacred figures was the quaintest of several quaint characteristics of an unusual personality.
"We won't complain about that, Master Martin," replied my great-uncle. "I have brought back my grandnephew to be the mainstay of my old age. Here he is—Master Ormerod, Martin. Ah, and this is a friend of his and an old enemy of mine, Peter Corlaer," as Peter rolled over the top of the bulwarks. "He is more to be reckoned with than you might suppose, is Peter.
"Master Martin, Nephew Robert, is my mate, and as such, my right hand and arm."
Martin stepped back, and the second of the three men confronting us touched his cap. This was a square, heavy-built fellow with a dour glint to his eye, who wore a decent blue cloth coat and small clothes.
"And here is Saunders, Master Martin's second," continued my great-uncle. "A Scot like myself. My nephew should make a fine Scotsman; eh, Saunders?"
"He's a braw-lookin' laddie in seemin'," Saunders agreed cautiously.
"Your meaning is that we must prove him?" responded Murray. "Quite true. We shall. Hola, Coupeau!"