‘No, sir.’
‘Then go with the sergeant of the guard,’ said the doctor; ‘examine every nook and corner, and make your report.’
‘Ay, ay, sir,’ answered the boatswain very sulkily again, and swinging round on his heels he quitted the poop with a sullen walk eloquent of malediction. The doctor drew back as if he would admit it was now the commander’s right to ask questions. Captain Barrett gazed at me strenuously through his eye-glass. His intent regard made me feel very uneasy.
‘What’s your name?’ said Captain Sutherland.
‘Simon Marlowe, sir.’
‘What are you?’ I hung my head. ‘No need,’ he exclaimed, ‘to ask if you were ever at sea; your hands are like a woman’s.’
‘He’s a deuced good-looking chap, doctor,’ said Captain Barrett in another aside. ‘Plump as a partridge, by the great horn spoon! What runs a chap to fat down in your hold, captain?’
‘What have you come to sea for?’ said the captain, speaking with a severity whose forced note my ear could not miss. Indeed, he seemed to find a sort of pleasure in looking at me.
‘I want to get to some friends in Tasmania, sir,’ I answered.
‘What names?’