“How came you on board? Been running away, eh?”
Again Tom nodded his head, and Captain Harrison began to understand that his passenger was in no mood for conversation.
“Take him below; I’ll dress him down after he gets a little better.”
Tom was led below into a cabin that smelled like fish, oil, stale vegetables, and, in fact, everything that is disagreeable. And there, amid this combination of terrible odors, poor, sick, runaway Tom could hear the creaking and grinding of the timbers of the crazy old hulk, while all he could do was to moan and groan in unison.
III.
If at any time during the twenty-four hours following Tom Gibson’s appearance among the startled crew of the Swiftsure that young gentleman had been asked if the old schooner was in any danger, he would have answered that she would surely sink within an hour and that all on board would perish with her.
No one asked Tom such a question; but he fully believed that it was impossible for the old craft to live much longer in the gale, and although he knew he was in even a more dangerous position than any one else, owing to the fact that he was below, he felt so sick that he paid but little attention to the supposed danger.
At the end of twenty-four hours, however, matters presented a decidedly different appearance. The wind having subsided, the clumsy old schooner no longer tumbled and tossed about; the sun was shining brightly, and, what was of more importance to Tom, he had so nearly recovered from his illness as to have eaten a very hearty breakfast in spite of the mixture of bad odors that had been so disagreeable to him.
Tom went on deck, almost enjoying the motion of the vessel which, a few hours before, had been so uncomfortable, and was beginning to think that there was some pleasure to be had by running away, when Captain Harrison said, in anything but a pleasant tone of voice:
“Well, Tom, you’ve come on board my vessel and eaten my food without so much as asking my permission, so now s’posin’ me an’ you have some kind of a settlement.”