Mr. Marline, the adult boatswain, took charge of them, and locked them up. The position of the brig had been recently changed, and it was now under the ladder leading from the deck to the steerage. The partitions were hard wood slats, two inches thick and three inches apart. Two stools were the only furniture it contained, though a berth-sack was supplied for each occupant at night. Their food, which was always much plainer than that furnished for the cabin and steerage tables, was passed in to them through an aperture in one side, beneath which was a shelf that served for a table.
Bark looked at Bill, and Bill looked at Bark, when the door had been secured, and the boatswain had left them to their own reflections. Neither of them seemed to be appalled by the situation. They sat down upon the stools facing each other. Bark smiled upon Bill, and Bill smiled in return. This was not the first time they had been occupants of the brig.
“Here we are,” said Bill Stout, in a low tone, after he had made a hasty survey of the prison. “I think this is better than the old brig, and I believe we can be happy here for a few days.”
“What will become of our big plan now, Bill?” asked Bark.
“Hush!” added Bill in his hoarsest whisper, as he looked through the slats of the prison to see if any one was observing them.
“What’s the matter now?” demanded Bark, rather startled by the impressive manner of his companion.
“Not a word,” replied Bill, as he pointed and gesticulated in the direction of the flooring under the ladder.
“Well, what is it?” demanded Bark.
“Don’t you see?” and again he pointed as before.
“I don’t see any thing.”