“Thank ye kindly,” said Alister, “but there’s small use in hiding now.  They can but pitch us overboard, and I’ve read that drowning is by far an easier death than being starved, if ye come to that.”

It was in this frame of mind that a sailor found us, and took us prisoners with so little difficulty that he drew the scarcely fair conclusion that we were the cheekiest, coolest hands of all the nasty, sneaking, longshore loafers he had ever had to deal with in all his blessed and otherwise than blessed born days.  And wrathful as this outburst was, it was colourless to the indignation in his voice, when (replying to some questions from above) he answered,

“Two on ’em!”

Several other sailors came to the help of our captor, and we were dragged up the ladder and on deck, where the young Scotchman looked to better advantage than down below, and where I made the best presentment of myself that my miserable condition would allow.  We were soon hauled before the captain, a sensible-faced, red-bearded man, with a Scotch accent rather harsher than Alister’s, in which he harangued us in very unflattering phrases for our attempt to “steal a passage,” and described the evil fate of which we were certain, if we did not work uncommonly hard for our victuals.

With one breath I and my companion asserted our willingness to do anything, and that to get a free passage as idlers was our last wish and intention.  To this, amid appreciating chuckles from the crew, the captain replied, that, so sneaks and stowaways always said; a taunt which was too vulgar as repartee to annoy me, though I saw Alister’s thin hands clenching at his sides.  I don’t know if the captain did, but he called out—­“Here! you lanky lad there, show your hands.”

“They’re no idle set,” said Alister, stretching them out.  He lifted his eyes as he said it, and I do not think he could have repressed the flash in them to save his life.  Every detail of the scene was of breathless interest to me, and as I watched to see if the captain took offence, I noticed that (though they were far less remarkable from being buried in a fat and commonplace countenance) his eyes, like Alister’s, were of that bright, cold, sea-blue common among Scotchmen.  He did not take offence, and I believe I was right in thinking that the boy’s wasted hands struck him much as they had struck me.

“Don’t speak unless I question you.  How long will ye have been hanging round the docks before ye’d the impudence to come aboard here?”

“I slept four nights in the docks, sir.”

“And where did ye take your meals?”

A flush crept over Alister’s bony face.  “I’m no’ a great eater, sir,” he said, with his eyes on the deck:  and then suddenly lifting a glance at me out of the corner of them, he added, “The last I had was just given me by a freen’.”

“That’ll do.  Put your hands down.  Can you sew?”

“I ask your pardon, sir?”