“The less trouble you make, the better it will be for you.”
“Perhaps it will; but I don’t intend to stay in this ship a great while.”
“I intend that you shall stay here; and since you avow your purpose to run away again, I must see that you are put in a safe place. Peaks, the brig.”
“The brig? What’s that?” demanded Clyde, who was very suspicious of the calm, unmoved tones of the principal.
“Come with me, my lad, and I will show you,” replied the boatswain.
The Briton knew by sad experience how useless it was to contend against this tyrant, who, however, always used him well when he behaved in a reasonable manner. He followed the boatswain into the steerage, and the door of the brig, which was a small prison formed of plank slats, set upright under the steps, about three inches apart, was opened.
“That’s the brig, my boy,” said Peaks. “It’s a regular institution on board a man-of-war; but this one has not been opened for months.”
“Well, what’s it for?” asked Clyde, who even yet did not seem to comprehend its use.
“Walk in, and I will make it all plain to you in a moment.”
“I don’t know what you mean.”