“Hang the lazy lubber!” shouted the mate from below—“snoring in broad daylight, eh? Wake him up with the rope’s end, Frenchy! Wallop him till he sings out!”
“No,” cried the captain, to whom a better programme had suggested itself. “Send him aloft! He seems fond of climbing up stairs. Drive him to the garret! He wants to be a sailor—we’ll make one of him!”
“Ha! ha!” rejoined the mate with a hoarse laugh at the wit of his superior; “the very thing, by Jove! give him an airing on the royal-yard!”
“Ay—ay!” answered Le Gros, and then, turning to me, with the rope held in menace, he ordered me to ascend.
I had no alternative but obey, and, twisting myself around the topmast shrouds, I caught the ratlins in my hands and commenced climbing upward.
Chapter Seven.
I climbed with slow and nervous step. I should have gone much slower but that I was forced upward by Le Gros, who followed me with the rope’s end, with which he struck me behind whenever I made a stop. He delivered his blows with fiendish spite, striking me about the legs and over the posteriors, and trying to hurt me as much as possible. In this he succeeded, for the hard-knotted rope pained me exceedingly. I had no alternative therefore but to keep on upward or submit to his lashing. I kept on.