“Boy,” said Bill Green in a hoarse whisper to Danny Dixon, who was passing near him: “I can’t do no cheerin’ at the wheel, so you cheer for me; and if you don’t pipe up as loud as the best of ’em I’ll tan your hide for you the wust you ever see, jest as soon as my relief comes.”
Danny was disposed to cheer anyhow, but Bill Green’s promise of a licking in case he did not do his full duty in the matter, tended to encourage him. He took his stand by the foremast and a series of diabolical whoops and yells resounded. “Hooray!” bawled Danny. “Hooray for Cap’n Paul Jones! Hooray for the Providence! Hooray for Mr. Bill Green! Hooray for the powder monkeys on this ’ere ship!” and so on indefinitely.
“What is that youngster yelling?” asked Paul Jones, laughing at the gravity and persistence with which Danny kept up his performance.
One of the officers went up to him, and returned laughing too:
“He says, sir, that Green, the quartermaster, told him to hurrah, and if he doesn’t keep it up he is afraid Green will give him the cat.”
Everybody laughed, and they agreed the best plan was to let Danny and the quartermaster settle it between them. Danny hurrahed for a solid half hour, until Green’s relief came. The old sailor then went up to him, grinning.
“You can shet that potato-trap o’ yourn now,” he said, “and I’ll take a turn myself,” whereupon Bill, inflating his lungs, roared out solemnly:
“Three cheers for Cap’n Paul Jones!”
“Hooray! hooray! hooray!” piped Danny Dixon’s shrill treble.
Paul Jones’s daring exploit still further increased the respect that his officers and men felt, and they showed it in a hundred ways.