“That is evident. Get a marline-spike from the second mate and then go out on the end of the jib-boom. Stay there and pound the rust off the chains until three bells strike. That may help you to remember. Go forward.”
The captain told Mr. Freeman what Dick was to do, and then went below for his nap. Out on the jib-boom, Dick performed his allotted task. What was passing in the boy’s mind, it would be hard to tell from the expression of his face. Resentment against Captain Maxwell? Scarcely. He seemed rather to be studying over some project. Now his lips moved, as though talking to himself. Then would follow a low chuckle, as of satisfaction at solving some intricate problem. At such moments, his knitted brows became smooth, and the chains were pounded with a vigor that seemed to give a kind of pleasure to the worker. Once or twice his revery was disturbed by a fancied footstep, and he furtively glanced around to see if anyone was watching.
Three bells had struck some little time before a hail from the deck attracted Dick’s attention.
“Jib-boom, there!”
“Aye, aye, sir.”
“Time’s up, Dick. You must like to pound chains.” It was the second mate who spoke.
Dick felt for the foot-ropes, and remembering Mr. Freeman’s injunction not to let the marline-spike go overboard, he slung it round his neck, and made his way to the deck.
“Where are your ears, Dick?”
“On my head, sir.”
“No impudence, you lubber! Next time I’ll let you work till we make port. Hand over that marline-spike.”