“He grew fat and strong and in a couple of months could go aloft with the men. He feared nothing but Jensen, and the men used to call out for fun, ‘Here comes the mate, Johnnie,’ just to hear him curse.
“Curse? Lord love ye, he could beat anything I ever heard. Why, I’ve seen the mate go for’ard to see what the men were laughing at, when it was just Johnnie calling Jensen names to them.”
“Shows how the coward was ruining him,” broke in the skipper.
“Well, he did have a queer way of training him,” went on Gantline. “He would ask him questions about navigation, too, and then lam him afterwards. One I remember.
“‘Johnnie,’ said he, ‘if this hooker should be driven clear to the Pole and steered away nor’west, how would she steer to get back, considering she had left something there she wanted to go back for, for instance.’
“‘Steer away nor’west, sir? Get back, sir? Why, just the opposite direction, southeast’
“‘Now, how in the name of Davy Jones can a vessel get to the Pole steering southeast, hey?’ he would yell. ‘What’s the matter with you? I’ll give you till the watch is called to answer, and if you don’t, I’ll peel you fore an’ aft.’”
“A cowardly, ignorant fool, sure enough,” said the skipper.
Gantline bit off a fresh chew of tobacco and stowed it carefully in his cheek.
“Still,” he went on, slowly, “when the weather got cold he saw the poor boy shivering one day, and he went aft and bought him a new set of slops, good and warm. He must have paid half a month’s wage for them, for the old man never gave things away off the Horn. You may say it wasn’t much, but he did it, anyway.