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Is everyone dead, I say? Ship a-a-hoy-y-y-y!" he yelled, in a despairing voice. "Ahoy there! What's the matter? That you, Tom Bodger?" "Bodger it is, Master Aleck. Here, quick, or I shall have both my hands off as well as my legs, and you'll have to put me out of my misery then." "Why, Tom," cried Aleck, wildly. "What ever oh!"
Intent upon his work, active with hands and arms, but rather helpless as to his legs, Tom Bodger was a splendid butt for the exercise of the boys' pertinacious tactics, and with mischief sparkling out of the young rascals' eyes they made their plans of approach and began to buzz round him like flies, calling names, asking questions, laughing and jeering too, all of which had but little effect upon the man, who was an adept at what he called giving "tongue."
For a voice suddenly exclaimed: "Quick, lads; surround!" and a hand was laid sharply upon the lad's collar, while two men grappled Tom. "Now, then," he growled, "what is it?" "Hold your noise, or you'll have a fist in your mouth," said a sharp voice. "Who are you?" "Name Bodger. AB, King's Navee. Pensioner for wounds. See?"
Old discipline on a man-of-war had made Bodger thoroughly alert, and suspecting a rush he took hold of his ball of net twine, unrolled sufficient to make many meshes, and then put it down again, seizing the opportunity to draw the stout oaken cudgel he generally carried well within reach of his hand.
"Come on, then, gen'lemen. You'll get a bit wet, but there's a long climb arterwards up the hot rocks in the sunshine, and you'll be 'most dry 'fore you get home." "Oh, never mind the water," cried the middy. "My uniform's spoilt. I'm ready to do anything to get out of here." "Will you go first, sir?" cried Tom Bodger. "No, you found the way in," was the reply, "so lead the way out." "Right, sir.
The result was that Thomas Bodger came back after some months to his native village, quite cured, in the best of health, and wearing a pair of the shortest wooden legs ever worn by crippled man his pegs, as the boys of Rockabie called them, though he dignified them himself by the name of toes.
I know that little game." Bodger went on netting away, watching the boat out of the corner of one eye as it was rowed smartly up to the harbour steps, where the oars were turned up; and leaving the youth with him in charge of the boat's crew, the officer sprang out with one of the men and hurried up the steps, gave a supercilious glance at the crippled sailor, who touched his hat, and then went along towards the town.
The man struggled again so violently that he got his hand on one side, making the boat rock and Tom Bodger grunt in his efforts to keep his prisoner down. "It's no good, Master Aleck," he whispered, hoarsely; "if I'd got my legs I could twist 'em round him and keep him still; but there's no grip in a pair of wooden pegs. Come and sit on his knees and help keep him quiet. Lash the helm, sir.
"I don't see why I shouldn't," he said, half drowsily, for a strange sensation of weariness came over him. "I should like to be a sailor. Why not go? Tom Bodger would help me to get a ship; and as uncle is going to send me away, talking as if he had quite done with me, I don't see why I shouldn't go."
"Right, sir. Here, let me get my hands under yer arms, and I'll heave yer in. I say, wheer's Eben Megg?" "Out here. I've got hold of him." Tom Bodger whistled softly in his astonishment.
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