Bill was soon perfectly at home among his new shipmates. He had never been so well fed in his life—plenty of good boiled beef and potatoes, and sweet biscuit.
“I have often wished to come to sea, and I am very glad I have come,” he said, as he was seated at mess. “I did not think they fed us so well.”
“Just you wait till we have been a few months in blue water, youngster,” observed Sam Grimshaw—“old Grim,” as his shipmates called him—“when we get down to the salted cow and pickled horse, and pork which is all gristle and bone. You will then sing a different tune, I have a notion.”
Old Grim was noted for grumbling. He grumbled at everything; and as to pleasing him, that was out of the question.
“Well,” answered Bill, “all I can say is, I am thankful for the good things now I’ve got them; and when the bad come, it will be time enough to cry out. I used to think, too, when once a ship got into the Channel clear away from the land, there would be nothing but tumbling and tossing about; and here we are running on as smoothly as we might up Portsmouth Harbour. Now, I am thankful for that.”
“Well, so it’s as well to be, my lad, for before many days are over we may be tumbling about in a heavy gale under close-reefed topsails, and then you will sing another tune to what you are doing now.”
“I shall be singing that I know the bad weather won’t last for ever, and that I have no doubt the sun will shine out,” answered Bill.
“But maybe you will get washed overboard, or a loose block will give you a knock on the head and finish you, or some other mishap will befall you,” growled out old Grim.
“As to that,” answered Bill, “I am ready for the rough and smooth of life, and for the ups and downs. As I hope to have some of the ups, I must make up my mind to be content with a few of the downs.”
“Well, well! There’s no making you unhappy,” growled out old Grim. “Now, you don’t mean to say this duff is fit food for Christians,” he exclaimed, sticking his fork into a somewhat hard piece of pudding.