Much amusement was caused amongst us as we received the respective coins to which we were entitled, each holding out his cap for them; for a sailor, you know, puts everything in his cap. Pocketing our coin as we went below, Mick created the greatest fun of all as he spit on his and spun it in the air. “Hooray!” he cried out, against the regulations, though, fortunately for himself, not too loud, as he skated down the hatchway. “Begorrah, it’s the foorst money Oi iver arnt in me loif! Faith, Tom mabouchal, we’ll spind it togither an’ hev a rig’ler jollification ashore!”
The bugle sounded ‘cooks to their messes’ as Mick was saying this; and so off he hurried to the galley on the fore part of the middle deck when we had got down the hatchway, I following after him.
On passing the entry-port, however, my old friend the master-at-arms hailed me.
“Hi, Tom Bowling!” he called out, beckoning me into the office; “I hope you haven’t been getting into any row?”
“Not that I know of, sir,” said I, flabbergasted by his question. “Why, sir?”
“Because the captain left word he wants to speak to you,” he replied. “You must go up again on the main-deck to his quarters aft.”
Thoroughly frightened at this, I proceeded as he had directed me; and, on reaching the door of the captain’s cabin, the marine sentry standing outside passed on my name and I was ushered in.
Cap in hand and in a state of much trepidation, I went along the gangway with him; and ‘bringing up’ opposite an open door, I rapped at this with my heart in my mouth.
“Hallo!” cried a voice within. “Who’s there?”
“T–t–t,” I stammered— “T–T’m Bowling, sir.”