The boy smiled as he looked at his own strong fists and arms, and then glanced at the countenances of his friends.
“To be sure—to be sure,” said Paul Pringle. “He was a fine true-hearted boy, and there’s no doubt he’ll prove a brave, dashing, and a good captain. Let’s hear what Tom Snell, Marline, and the rest say to the matter.”
They waited till the other seamen came up. With the latter was a one-legged black man, with a fiddle-case under his arm. He was no other than Sam Smatch, who had, ever since the last war, followed the fortunes of Paul Pringle and his old shipmates. The whole party were now grouped together before the placard, with Billy True Blue in the centre. They were not left long to consult together without interruption, for the placard served the purpose for which a bait is hung up in a wood, or placed at the bottom of a pit, while the hunter stands by to watch for the appearance of the animals it may attract. In this case, the first lieutenant of the Ruby was acting the part of the hunter. He had taken a survey of the men from a shop window, and speedily made his appearance on the spot. They knew him by the single simple epaulette on his shoulder. He addressed them at once in a free, hearty tone.
“Well, my lads, you see what’s wanted,” said he. “If you wish to serve under one of the smartest, bravest officers in the Navy, you will join the Ruby. We want some prime hands like most of you. Come, which of you will join? Say the word and stick to it.”
“Why, sir, d’ye see, we all goes together, or we doesn’t go at all,” said Paul Pringle, stepping forward. “We’ve been shipmates off and on for many years, and we wish to be so till we lays up in ordinary again.”
“I may, perhaps, be able to arrange that matter,” answered the lieutenant, not liking to show all the satisfaction he felt, or to yield too soon to the demands the men might make. “But that boy, now? Perhaps we may have boys enough on board already. I suppose you don’t wish to take him to sea?”
“Not him, sir! If he doesn’t go, none on us goes,” answered Paul briskly.
“None on us,” echoed all the other godfathers.
“He is your son, I conclude, my man?” said the lieutenant, addressing Paul.
“No, sir, not mine more than Abel Bush’s or Peter Ogle’s, or any of them astern there,” answered Paul. “No, sir, he belongs to us all, d’ye see, sir? He’s the son of an old shipmate, sir, killed out in the West Ingies, fighting with Lord Rodney; and his mother was an old shipmate too; and so the boy was left to the ship’s company, and they chose us to look after him—and we have looked after him, and we intend to look after him; and we loves him just as if he was a son, and more nor some fathers do their sons, and that’s the truth on’t, sir; and so we all intends to ship with him, that we may have him among us, that’s it, sir.”