"Yes, sir. That is if they mess before the armourer's bench on the supernumerary mess table."
"Very well, steward, enter number seventeen mess in your books, and put down in it these two men's names. Mind, no one else is to join them."
The commander then turned to the sergeant and directed him "to see that the two able seamen took their mess traps and gear into their new mess, and ordered him on no account to allow either of them to take a meal at any but that table," and dismissed the mutilated ones to the comforts of each other's society.
At that moment the pipe went for the cooks of messes to lay aft for their flour and plums.
Spry and Blain were somewhat non-plussed, as each had sworn never to speak to the other when not on duty. They, however, walked forward, when a bright thought occurred to the former, and he motioned his new messmate to toss for the cookship. Blain gravely drew a penny from a small bag in which he kept his money, and twirling the coin in the air, held it hidden between his flattened palms before the face of his opponent. Spry being unable to cry head or tail, looked solemnly and pointed to his own head, upon which Blain removed his uppermost hand disclosed the coin, which was head up. Blain thereupon took a tin dish and drew the rations, after which they sat down to breakfast, back to back. As their meal consisted of cocoa and dry biscuit, there was no need for either to request the other "to pass the sauce," and as far as the actual requirements of the case were concerned they got on very well upon the silent system. After breakfast Spry went on deck, leaving his messmate to make the duff and otherwise prepare their dinner. At twelve o'clock both men sat down and devoured their meal in silence; and when the pipe went for grog, the cook of the mess proceeded on deck to draw their allowance, which having tilted into a basin, he, being without a measure, grimly pushed over to his companion. Now, when two sailors face each other over a bowl of grog they are very apt to forget all differences; and the maimed ones, after pushing the basin backwards and forwards between them, as neither would so far lower himself in the other's eyes as to drink first, at last ventured to exchange glances. There was the grog—strong, dark, and tempting, so they took first a look at that and then at each other, then their hands slowly crept across the table, and there was another friendly contest who should be most polite in silently insisting upon the other taking the first sip. At length they spoke simultaneously.
"Spry, old ship, I'm a fool."
"Blain, old man, I'm a duffer."
And then they drank alternately to each other's health, and swore perpetual friendship.
"You see, Jemmy, old man—"