“Here, sir,” said Tommy Dott, coming from the other side of the quarter-deck.
“Mr Dott, take this young gentleman down below, and show him the midshipmen’s berth. Let me see, who is to take care of his hammock?”
“I believe that Bob Cross is to take care of it, sir,” said I.
“The captain’s coxswain—humph. Well, that’s settled at all events; very good—we shall have the pleasure of your company to dinner, Mr Keene. Why, Mr Dott and you look as if you knew each other.”
“Don’t we, Tommy?” said I to the midshipman, grinning.
“I suspect that there is a pair of you,” said the first lieutenant, turning aft and walking away; after which Tommy and I went down the companion ladder as fast as we could, and in a few seconds afterwards were sitting together on the same chest, in most intimate conversation.
My extreme resemblance to our honourable captain was not unobserved by the officers who were on the quarter-deck at the time of my making my appearance; and, as I afterwards heard from Bob Cross, he was sent for by the surgeon, on some pretence or another, to obtain any information relative to me. What were Bob Cross’s reasons for answering as he did I could not at that time comprehend, but he explained them to me afterwards.
“Who brought him down, Cross?” said the surgeon, carelessly.
“His own mother, sir; he has no father, sir, I hear.”
“Did you see her? What sort of a person was she?”