I told him in a few words.
“Another likely story,” he remarked. “In other words, you stole the ship’s provisions as long as you could get at them, or you had an accomplice who kept you fed—he’ll be made to smart for it.”
On hearing this, I began to tremble for the consequences to Mark. Though the captain didn’t mention his name, I guessed that he pointed at him. I was much inclined to say who I was, and to speak of Mr Butterfield, but shame prevented me, and the captain made no inquiries on the subject.
“Now go forward,” he said; “look out sharp, get back your strength, and make yourself useful.”
He turned on his heel, not deigning to hold any further conversation with so insignificant a person as he considered me.
The mate let me go. I tried to walk, but staggered like a drunken man, and could only just manage to reach the side, and catch hold of a belaying-pin. I remained there until the captain turned round, when, afraid of his looks, I once more set off to make my way along the deck, the mate taking no trouble to help me, while the crew jeered and laughed at me; till Tom Trivett, who had been at work on the other side, crossing over, took my arm and led me along to the forehatch, where he bade me sit down.
“There goes the baby and his nurse,” said one of the men.
“Tom will be getting him some pap presently,” said another—at which they laughed in chorus.
The third mate, seeing Tom standing over me, ordered him back to his work. Mark made an attempt to join me, but was sent to perform some task or other, and I was left alone and forlorn to endure the gibes of my hardhearted shipmates.
Caesar, however, came out of his caboose, and whispered as he passed—