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"You kin stay if your want to, Willium," she said, "only see that you are home bright and early in the mornin'. Your Pa'll want you to help hill potaters." In those times sailors lacked the addition of the harness cask and bread barge, to the bitter wooden beef and the coarse worm-eaten ship's biscuit which science and experience have contributed to the scurvy-making fare which seamen are obliged to eat. Yet a sort of provision was made to supplement the brine-hardened meat and the worms of the sailor's bread. The captain of a man-of-war, for instance, at sea, would breakfast on coffee, toast, potted beef and tongue, sliced à la Vauxhall. Whole legs of mutton were tinned. As he advanced towards the companion steps the hatch was darkened by the figure of Mr Eagle, who, on catching sight of the Captain, cried: "A sail broad on the larboard bow, sir!".

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Something like a muffled chuckle came from behind the stairway door, but the good woman, intent on her grievance, did not hear it. Wilson heard, however, and let the boot-jack fall to the floor with a clatter. He picked it up and carried it over to its accustomed peg on the wall, whistling softly the tune which he had whistled to Billy in the old romping, astride-neck days: When the wound had been dressed, during which Mr Lawrence kept his eyes shut and his teeth set—he was in mortal pain—the Admiral asked him gently if he suffered much. Mr Lawrence opened his eyes and looked at his father, and smiled slightly. Faint as the smile was, mingled as it was with the distortion of anguish, it had in it the charm of a manly beauty which only the decay of the grave could destroy, and in it also were remorse and gratitude. His lips parted in the words, "No, sir," and again his eyes closed. Billy promptly scented a new danger to his plans. "If I was you I wouldn't do that, Anse," he advised. "Why I read it in Anson's book, 'Trigger-Finger Tim er Dead er Alive.' Oh, it's all hunky, I tell you.".