“Have a pull, lad? No! well, please yourself. I ain’t goin’ to join the temperance move myself yet,” said Jones, replacing the bottle in his pocket.
The short squall having carried the boat nearer to the Gull lightship than was desirable, Mr Jones tried to keep as far off from her as possible, while the tide should sweep them past; but the wind having almost died away, he did not succeed in this; however, he knew that darkness would prevent recognition, so he thought it best not to take to the oars, but to hold on, intending to slip quietly by, not supposing that Billy would think it of any use to hail the vessel; but Billy happened to think otherwise.
“Gull ahoy! hoy!” he shouted at the top of his shrill voice.
“Boat ahoy!” responded Jack Shales, who happened to be on duty; but no response was given to Jack, for the good reason that Jones had instantly clapped his hand on Billy’s mouth, and half-choked him.
“That’s odd,” remarked Jack, after repeating his cry twice. “I could swear it was the voice of that sharp little rascal Billy Towler.”
“If it wasn’t it was his ghost,” replied Jerry MacGowl, who chanced to be on deck at the time.
“Sure enough it’s very ghost-like,” said Shales, as the boat glided silently and slowly out of the circle of the lantern’s light, and faded from their vision.
Mr Jones did not follow up his act with further violence. He merely assured Billy that he was a foolish fellow, and that it was of no use to struggle against his fate.
As time wore on, poor Billy felt dreadfully sleepy, and would have given a good deal for some of the grog in his companion’s case-bottle, but, resolving to stand upon his dignity, would not condescend to ask for it. At length he lay down and slept, and Jones covered him with a pilot-coat.
No soft spot in the scoundrel’s heart induced him to perform this act of apparent kindness. He knew the poor boy’s temperament, and resolved to attack him on his weakest point.