"Jones isn't here, sir," said Bob, looking around. "If he is, he's asleep."
"He is, eh!" shouted the voice. "And who are you?"
"I am Bob Nellis, sir."
"Well, I'll Bob Nellis you if you don't come out of that in less time than you can say 'scat!"
As Bob afterward learned, Barlow had shipped him under the name of Jones. Of course he did not know that at the time, but still he did not delay obeying the order to show himself on deck. Just as he reached the top of the ladder a man standing there dealt him a severe blow, and as Bob gathered himself up—for he was knocked flat—shouted:
"I am second mate of this ship, my hearty. Take that for your impudence. Fore-top-mast stay-sail halliards."
Fortunately Bob was acquainted with a good many ropes, and knew where to go to find them. He did not understand what he was expected to do with the halliards, but he staggered to the foremast and uncoiled the rope just as the crew came hurrying forward to hoist the stay-sail. While he was hauling with the others he made out to cast a glance over the fife-rail. The night was pitch-dark, there was a heavy breeze on, and the J. W. Smart, propelled by a favorable wind, was doing her best to make an offing before the storm, which had been threatening them all the afternoon, came up. But when the storm came up it proved to be a mere capful of wind the bulk of the tempest having passed to the northward of them. It became necessary to shorten sail, and Bob, being always in the way, received many a kick and blow there-for, and it was two o'clock before he was permitted to go below. He had no clothes for his empty bunk, but he turned in and slept soundly in spite of his gloomy thoughts, for he was utterly exhausted. At the first peep of day he was awakened by the hoarse voice of the second mate, and, recalling his last night's experience, lost no time in throwing on the few clothes he had taken off before lying down and hurrying to the deck. Almost the first man he saw when he reached the head of the ladder was old Ben Watson. The recognition was mutual, but before Bob could speak to the old sailor Ben gave him a meaning gesture and turned away. Bob was overjoyed to find that his friend had so easily got over the blow that made him a prisoner on board the Smart. Here was just what he needed in his helpless situation—a person to whom he could go for sympathy and advice; one who would teach him his duty, and thus enable him to avoid the kicks and blows of the second mate.
"Wait a while before you tell me your story," whispered Ben. "I know how you came here, and if I ever get back to Clifton I'll get even with that Joe Lufkin."
"Here, too," said Bob, in the same cautious whisper. "He has swelled your head up awfully."
At breakfast Bob met the two men who had been sleeping off their potations the night before. They felt mean and sneaking indeed, but like old sailor-men they knew that they must accept what the fates had in store for them.