"What in hell were you doing down there?"
"I—I was thinking," I stammered.
"He was thinking," echoed the mate scornfully. "Well, thinking will never make a sailor of you."
Boisterous laughter.
"After this do your thinking where we can find you when you're wanted."
As I walked aft, the mate went with me pace for pace, poking more fun at me. To which I dared not answer, as I was impelled, because he was strong and I was very frail ... and always, when on the verge of danger, or a physical encounter, the memory of my Uncle Lan's beatings would now crash into my memory like an earthquake, and render my resolution and sinews all a-tremble and unstrung.
I was of a mind to tell the captain who was drinking his liquor—but here again I feared, and cursed myself for fearing.
When the mate told him of where he had found me, at last—what he had done—what I had said—Schantze laughed....
But, later on, he sympathised with me and unexpectedly remarked:
"Johann, how can you expect a heavy-minded numbskull like Miller to understand!"