CHAPTER II.
AT SEA.
Ned was not fit for duty during this day and the next.
Both his eyes were blackened, his cheek cut and swollen, and his face blistered in several places.
After ministering to his necessities as well as possible, the cook carried him into the forecastle, and there, alone, he had ample opportunity to reflect upon what kind of a life he might be forced to lead while it was necessary he should remain aboard the brig.
On the evening of the first day, the chief mate, Bob Stout, came below to inquire how the boy felt, and before he had been in the ill-smelling place five minutes Ned decided that he should like this officer, no matter how brutal the others might be.
“Got knocked ’round pretty lively for a few minutes, eh?” the mate said in a cheery tone as he seated himself on a chest by the side of Ned’s bunk.
“Indeed I did, an’ all for nothin’. I was doin’ the best I knew when he begun, an’ then how could I help tumblin’ the cook over when the captain fired me at him?”
“You don’t want to bother your head about that, my lad. The least said in such cases is the soonest mended. A boy at sea must learn to hold his tongue.”
“Even when he’s gettin’ a floggin’ he don’t deserve?”
“Of course; that’s the very time when it’s most dangerous to talk. You’ll soon get used to the captain’s ways.”