"Another likely story," he remarked. "In other words, you stole the
ship's provisions as long as you could get at them, or you had an
accomplice who kept you fed--he'll be made to smart for it."
On hearing this, I began to tremble for the consequences to Mark.
Though the captain didn't mention his name, I guessed that he pointed at
him. I was much inclined to say who I was, and to speak of Mr
Butterfield, but shame prevented me, and the captain made no inquiries
on the subject.
"Now go forward," he said; "look out sharp, get back your strength, and
make yourself useful."
He turned on his heel, not deigning to hold any further conversation
with so insignificant a person as he considered me.
The mate let me go. I tried to walk, but staggered like a drunken man,
and could only just manage to reach the side, and catch hold of a
belaying-pin. I remained there until the captain turned round, when,
afraid of his looks, I once more set off to make my way along the deck,
the mate taking no trouble to help me, while the crew jeered and laughed
at me; till Tom Trivett, who had been at work on the other side,
crossing over, took my arm and led me along to the forehatch, where he
bade me sit down.
"There goes the baby and his nurse," said one of the men.
"Tom will be getting him some pap presently," said another--at which
they laughed in chorus.
The third mate, seeing Tom standing over me, ordered him back to his
work. Mark made an attempt to join me, but was sent to perform some
task or other, and I was left alone and forlorn to endure the gibes of
my hardhearted shipmates.