When it came to my turn, though, I had absolutely nothing to show.
“Hullo!” exclaimed the master-at-arms. “Where are your papers, young ’un?”
I was about to explain; but the ship’s corporal who had first spoken to me at the entry-port and taken on to the captain the letter from Captain Mordaunt which father had handed to me, saved all further trouble.
“Here are Tom Bowling’s certificates, sir,” said he, giving the couple of sheets of foolscap in question to his superior officer. “The cap’en says they’re all right, and he’s to be entered if he passes the schoolmaster and is medically fit.”
“That’s all right, then, Mister Bowling,” said the master-at-arms to me, with a mock bow. “Hullo, though, Bowling—Bowling? It strikes me I’ve heard that name before, my lad. Father in the service, eh?”
“He has served in the navy, sir,” I replied. “But he’s a pensioner now, and works as a waterman up and down the harbour.”
“Ah, I thought so! He and I were old shipmates together out in the Ashantee War on the West Coast, and I recollect him well. You are very like him, too, I can see now from the cut of your jib, youngster! You’re a regular chip of the old block.”
“So everybody says, sir,” I said with a grin. “I only hope, sir, I will turn out as good a sailor!”
“Only act up to that wish, my boy, and you’ll do! I say, corporal, take these three lads down to the schoolmaster and see what he makes of them.”
With that, giving me a friendly nod, the master-at-arms dismissed us, and the ship’s corporal conducted us down the nearest hatchway to the lower deck.