With the new life Billy found himself taking on a new character.  He surprised himself singing at his work—­he whose whole life up to now had been devoted to dodging honest labor—­whose motto had been:  The world owes me a living, and it’s up to me to collect it.  Also, he was surprised to discover that he liked to work, that he took keen pride in striving to outdo the men who worked with him, and this spirit, despite the suspicion which the captain entertained of Billy since the episode of the forecastle, went far to making his life more endurable on board the Halfmoon, for workers such as the mucker developed into are not to be sneezed at, and though he had little idea of subordination it was worth putting up with something to keep him in condition to work.  It was this line of reasoning that saved Billy’s skull on one or two occasions when his impudence had been sufficient to have provoked the skipper to a personal assault upon him under ordinary conditions; and Mr. Ward, having tasted of Billy’s medicine once, had no craving for another encounter with him that would entail personal conflict.

The entire crew was made up of ruffians and unhung murderers, but Skipper Simms had had little experience with seamen of any other ilk, so he handled them roughshod, using his horny fist, and the short, heavy stick that he habitually carried, in lieu of argument; but with the exception of Billy the men all had served before the mast in the past, so that ship’s discipline was to some extent ingrained in them all.

Enjoying his work, the life was not an unpleasant one for the mucker.  The men of the forecastle were of the kind he had always known—­there was no honor among them, no virtue, no kindliness, no decency.  With them Billy was at home—­he scarcely missed the old gang.  He made his friends among them, and his enemies.  He picked quarrels, as had been his way since childhood.  His science and his great strength, together with his endless stock of underhand tricks brought him out of each encounter with fresh laurels.  Presently he found it difficult to pick a fight—­his messmates had had enough of him.  They left him severely alone.

These ofttimes bloody battles engendered no deep-seated hatred in the hearts of the defeated.  They were part of the day’s work and play of the half-brutes that Skipper Simms had gathered together.  There was only one man aboard whom Billy really hated.  That was the passenger, and Billy hated him, not because of anything that the man had said or done to Billy, for he had never even so much as spoken to the mucker, but because of the fine clothes and superior air which marked him plainly to Billy as one of that loathed element of society—­a gentleman.