“No, sir; I believe he joined chiefly to be near his companion, the two being great friends.”
“He looks a different kind of boy altogether,” the captain [pg 51]said. “You could pick him out as a fisher boy anywhere, and picture him in high boots, baggy corduroy breeches, and blue guernsey.”
“He is a strong, well-built lad, and I should say a good deal more powerful than his friend.”
“Well, they are good types of boys, and are not likely to give us as much trouble as some of those young scamps, run-away apprentices and so on, who want a rope’s end every week or so to teach them to do their duty.”
The boys were taken down to a deck below the water-level, where the crew were just going to begin dinner. At one end was a table at which six boys were sitting.
“Hillo, who are you?” the eldest among them asked. “I warn you, if you don’t make things comfortable, you will get your heads punched in no time.”
“My name is William Gilmore, and this is Tom Stevens. As to punching heads, you may not find it as easy as you think. I may warn you at once that we are friends and will stick together, and that there will be no punching one head without having to punch both.”
“We shall see about that before long,” the other said. “Some of the others thought they were going to rule the roost when they joined a few days ago, but I soon taught them their place.”
“Well, you can begin to teach us ours as soon as you like,” Tom Stevens said. “We have met bullies of your sort before. Now, as dinner is going on, we will have some of it, as they didn’t victual us before we left the cutter.”
“Well, then, you had better go to the cook-house and draw rations. No doubt the cook has a list of you fellows’ names.”