The instant Captain Truck retrod the deck of his ship was one of
uncontrollable feeling with the weather-beaten old seaman. The ship had
sewed too much to admit of walking with ease, and he sat down on the
coaming of the main hatch, and fairly wept like an infant. So high had his
feelings been wrought that this out-breaking was violent, and the men
wondered to see their grey-headed, stern, old commander, so completely
unmanned. He seemed at length ashamed of the weakness himself, for, rising
like a worried tiger, he began to issue his orders as sternly and promptly
as was his wont.
"What the devil are you gaping at, men!" he growled; "did you never see a
ship on her bilge before? God knows, and for that matter you all know,
there is enough to do, that you stand like so many marines, with their
'eyes right!' and 'pipe-clay.'"
"Take it more kindly, Captain Truck," returned an old sea-dog, thrusting
out a hand that was all knobs, a fellow whose tobacco had not been
displaced even by the fray; "take it kindly, and look upon all these boxes
and bales as so much cargo that is to be struck in, in dock. We'll soon
stow it, and, barring a few slugs, and one four-pounder, that has cut up a
crate of crockery as if it had been a cat in a cupboard, no great harm is
done.
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