"And you?" asked the skipper of Bill.
"I didn't know I'd find him here," answered Bill with a vindictive squint at Tom, "or I wouldn't ha' come."
"Twin brothers," commented the captain, "and on bad terms! Well, you will have little time to quarrel aboard this ship, and plenty of time to make friends. It is too late to get rid of you; so you must work. Put them in separate watches, Mr. Butterell."
"Yes, sir," answered Mr. Butterell, reaching for Bill. "I choose you," he added, as his grip closed on Bill's collar. Then he swung him at arm's length aft toward the poop then forward with all his strength, hurling him, rolling and scrambling wildly, fully thirty feet along the deck. Then, with a quick, self-satisfied smirk up at those on the poop, he repeated the feat upon Tom.
Now a few words about Mr. Butterell. He was, all in all, the most efficient executive officer I had ever sailed with. He knew his business, from knotting a rope yarn up to masting a ship. In shortening sail he could get canvas in as though it obeyed an intelligent knowledge of his wish; but it was really because of his wonderful voice and vocabulary. He never missed or repeated an order, and could send his words against a gale from the poop to the weather fore earing as distinctly and articulately as he would read off morning sights to the skipper.
Unlike myself, a graduate of the schoolship St. Mary, he had worked his way up from the forecastle; yet he had mastered more of navigation than do most merchant skippers, and could figure great circle sailing and take star and lunar sights. Besides, as I learned on further association with him, he possessed a conversational power rare in seafaring men, but developed in him by wide reading and wide-open eyes. Added to this, he had the build and strength of a giant, the agility of a panther, the fistic skill of a prize-fighter—and the vanity of a spoiled child.
He seemed unable to perform the most commonplace action without a half-involuntary and quick look around to notice some possible token of approval, and in the absence of his social or professional equals would seek it from the men, even from the Chinese cook. And with this weakness was allied another, still more incompatible with his assured mental and physical strength—an active hatred for the class of men from which he had risen. It was the first of these that had prompted that quick smirk toward the poop, and the second that impelled him to follow the two human projectiles and, with kicks, clouts, and forceful language, hasten their progress forward.
It was nearly four bells of the first dog-watch, or, more explicitly, about ten minutes to six in the evening, of the first day out, and though the watches had not yet been chosen half the crew had gone to supper at three bells, when the day's work was done, and now, having finished, had struggled out of the forecastle lighting their pipes. Also the captain, his daughter, and Mr. Butterell had eaten supper; but the rest of the men and myself would not have ours until four bells. Hence, for the time, all hands were on deck to witness the breaking in of the stowaways.
I could see no approval in the faces of the men as they watched the brutal spectacle, and in Mabel's, as I glanced upward, I saw horror and fright; but in Captain Merwin's face was nothing to indicate approval or disapproval. My own, however, must have reflected the strong disgust that I felt; for the captain, seizing his daughter's arm, said, "Come, Mabel," and led her aft.
"Afraid," I muttered bitterly, "to antagonize his fancy first mate!" For Captain Merwin was a kindly man, and I had often heard him correct his officers for assaulting the men.