"Well, I tell you to go and do it now."
The captain took a step forward, and Tony, who had already learned to expect a kick every time he received a reprimand, sprang quickly up the ladder.
"Now, I'll see what that mate will do about it," said he, as he made his way toward the forecastle; and sure enough he did. He had scarcely taken down his bag of clothes, when he heard footsteps, and looking up saw the mate coming down the ladder. He walked straight up to Tony, and without saying a word, knocked him flat with a blow of his fist.
"Are you going to obey orders or not?" said he, looking down at the prostrate boy, who was so badly stunned, that he could not get upon his feet. "I didn't tell you to come in here. I told you to go into the galley. Now start or I'll give you another."
Tony heard the words, but they put no life into him. They seemed to come from some far away source, and to have no reference whatever to himself. He did not even know that they were addressed to him, nor did he fully comprehend the mate's threat to give him another. He knew when the officer picked him up and shook him; but when he was released, he sunk down beside his bunk again. He heard the mate say, that he thought he had received a lesson that he would not soon forget; and saw him when he ascended to the deck, but still he did not move. He must have laid there for half an hour or more, seeing everything in the forecastle and hearing all that went on on deck, but fully sensible of nothing; and during that time, no one came near him. At last his scattered faculties began to come back to him very gradually, accompanied by a splitting headache. After two or three ineffectual attempts, he succeeded in rolling into his bunk; and for the first time since he could remember, cried himself into a dreamless slumber.
His tears or the refreshing sleep he enjoyed put his head all right again, but he found, upon examination, that his face was pretty badly battered. His eyes had a long way to look to see beyond the swelling that surrounded them, and when he made his way to the deck, the crew looked at him in the greatest surprise. So did Mr. Sands, who, without saying a word, led him into the galley and placed him in front of a little piece of looking-glass that was nailed to the bulkhead. Both his eyes were as black as his hat.
"Does you feel sick?" asked the cook, in a tone of sympathy.
"Yes, I do—sick at heart," added Tony, to himself. "Things never go right with me as they do with other fellows, and I might just as well fold my hands and let them go as they please without making any effort to better myself. There's one thing about it: I'll burn up those lying books as soon as I get home, and never think of a sailor or salt water again."
"I knowed you didn't do right to go an' raise a furse wid dat fus' mate," continued the cook. "He's a bad one."
Tony replied that he didn't raise any fuss with him, and then went on to tell why the mate had knocked him down. When he had finished his story, the darkey shook his head as if to say that it was a hard case altogether; and then he whispered to Tony—