At the best of times the life of a sailor was hard, and Desmond found it at first almost intolerable.  Irregular sleep on an uncomfortable hammock, wedged in with the other members of the crew, bad food, and over exertion told upon his frame.  From the moment when all hands were piped to lash hammocks to the moment when the signal was given for turning in, it was one long round of thankless drudgery.  But he proved himself to be very quick and nimble.  Before long, no one could lash his hammock with the seven turns in a shorter time than he.  After learning the work on the mainsails and trysails he was sent to practise the more acrobatic duties in the tops, and when two months had passed, no one excelled him in quickness aloft.

If his work had been confined to the ordinary seaman’s duties he would have been fairly content, for there is always a certain pleasure in accomplishment, and the consciousness of growing skill and power was some compensation for the hardships he had to undergo.  But he had to do dirty work for the cook, clean out the styes of the captain’s pigs, swab the lower deck, sometimes descend on errands for one or other to the nauseous hold.

Perhaps the badness of the food was the worst evil to a boy accustomed to plain but good country fare.  The burgoo or oatmeal gruel served at breakfast made him sick; he knew how it had been made in the cook’s dirty pans.  The “Irish horse” and salt pork for dinner soon became distasteful; it was not in the best condition when brought aboard, and before long it became putrid.  The strong cheese for supper was even more horrible.  He lived for the most part on the tough sea biscuit of mixed wheat and pea flour, and on the occasional duffs of flour boiled with fat, which did duty as pudding.  For drink he had nothing but small beer; the water in the wooden casks was full of green, grassy, slimy things.  But the fresh sea air seemed to be a food itself; and though Desmond became lean and hollow cheeked, his muscles developed and hardened.  Little deserving Captain Barker’s ill-tempered abuse, he became handy in many ways on board, and proved to be the possessor of a remarkably keen pair of eyes.

When, in obedience to the captain’s orders, he was greasing the mast, his attention was caught by three or four specks on the horizon.

“Sail ho!” he called to the officer of the watch.

“Where away?” was the reply.

“On the larboard quarter, sir; three or four sail, I think.”

The officer at once mounted the shrouds and took a long look at the specks Desmond pointed out, while the crew below crowded to the bulwarks and eagerly strained their eyes in the same direction.

“What do you make of ’em, Mr. Sunman?” asked the captain.

“Three or four sail, sir, sure enough.  They are hull down; there’s not a doubt but they’re bringing the wind with ’em.”

“Hurray!” shouted the men, overjoyed at the prospect of moving at last.