I was somewhat doubtful of the truth of this statement, but as nothing was to be gained by refuting it, I bit my lips and said nothing.
"You can take your time about changing your clothes," went on Lowell. "There ain't much to do at present. When it storms is the time all hands work lively, for their own sake as much as for the sake of any one else. When you're in working rig come to the bow, and I'll give you a pointer or two about how to tackle things."
With these words the boatswain—for such Lowell was—left me to myself.
CHAPTER VIII.
PHIL JONES.
I found the forecastle of the Spitfire a dark and rather unwholesome place. The ventilation was bad, and the smell of tar and oakum was so strong that for a moment I had to turn away to catch my breath.
Luckily my bunk was close to the doorway, so I had the best light the place afforded. Close to me was a chest, and upon this I sat down to think.
It would be hard to express my feelings at this moment. Had I gone on board the Spitfire of my own will I would not have considered the matter as bad. True, I had no great fancy for a life on the ocean wave, such as most boys are supposed to cherish. I knew that at best it was little better than a dog's existence.
"Hello, there!"