He then looked about him at the nautical instruments, the charts and books, peeped here and there, and took a sorrowful survey of the plundered berth. He put my convict mattress and pillow into the bunk and said that would be my bed by night—for the night or two we were to remain on board—that he would lock me up out of harm’s way and release me in the morning. I dared not expostulate; he was my master if he was not yet my lord; his least command, nay, his lightest wish, moved me as a powerful impulse. Where would my dear one himself sleep? Yet I was afraid to ask.
‘Now,’ said he, ‘I want you to keep clear of the convicts. Get away out of hearing of them. Lodge yourself here closely; you’ll not be missed. I’ll lock you in, and no one will dare trouble you. I’ll tell them you’re helping me in the navigation of the ship and acting as a sort of captain’s clerk. It’ll be but for a day or two. Meanwhile we must eat and drink. Come forward and see what’s doing in the galley.’
We were leaving the cabin, when he stopped to exclaim: ‘Do you know what a slop-chest is?’
‘Yes.’
‘Is there one in the ship?’
‘I’ve heard Will speak of a slop-chest.’
He nodded, and we then left the berth. They had trimmed up the cuddy, but the starred and splintered mirrors made a ruin of it. Abram was gone; a number of convicts lounged about the interior. Some seemed to be preparing the cabins; others were seated with their legs hoisted on to the table, others sprawled along the cushioned lockers. Most of them were smoking. A continuous hoarse, sulky growl of conversation, frequently broken by a short, deep laugh, rolled through the cuddy.
Tom called out: ‘Do any of you know if they’re preparing a meal for the people?’
‘Ay,’ answered one of the men, ‘the cooks are at work. Some beef’s been taken out of the cask, and the officer called Bates has sarved out tea and sugar—the reg’lar muck-mess, pal.’
‘Where are we to eat?’ exclaimed a heavy-faced, coarse-voiced man, who sat smoking in a lounge-chair near the mizzen-mast.