Charlie surveyed himself in his new attire with some complacency. He felt that it was becoming, and it gave him a new feeling of manliness. In fact it seemed to him, for the time being, as if he were really a sailor. Charlie, however, though he was very well pleased with his sailor's rig, did not feel in the least tempted to wear it professionally. Accordingly, after the survey was over, he began to divest himself of it.

"What are you doing?" asked the mate, laying his hand heavily upon the shoulder of our young hero.

"Taking off your nephew's clothes," returned Charlie, looking up in considerable surprise at the tone in which he was addressed.

"What's that for?"

"To put on my own."

"Then you needn't trouble yourself," said Randall, composedly; "those you have on are your own."

"What do you mean?" asked Charlie meeting the mate's triumphant look with an open, manly glance.

"I mean," said Randall, with a sardonic look, "that the clothes were bought for the one who now wears them."

"Bought for me!" exclaimed Charlie, in great bewilderment.

"Yes. You wondered how they happened to fit you so well. That is easily explained. They were picked out on purpose for you. The old Jew in the clothing-store took your measure with his eye while you were standing there with me. Faith, he's got a pretty sharp eye."

"But your nephew?" said Charlie, his heart sinking, as he began to comprehend the plot to which he had fallen a victim; "I thought you said they belonged to him."

"Well," said Randall, with a harsh laugh, "you're my nephew."

"I am not," said Charlie, with something of haughtiness in his tone, as he surveyed the mate scornfully.

"He's got his mother's look," muttered the latter. "That's the way she looked when she sent me about my business. She'd look something different, I fancy, if she knew I'd got her boy in my power. I've got the whip-hand of her now, and she'll live yet to repent the day she rejected Jack Randall."

These thoughts flashed through his mind in an instant, and did not prevent his answering at once Charlie's bold denial.

"There's a little too much pride about you, youngster. It'll need taming down. You're to be my nephew while you're aboard this ship. Remember, your name is Jack Randall. Take care that you claim no other."

"What good will that do?" said Charlie. "I am not going to remain on board."

"You're not, eh?" said the mate, significantly.

"No," said Charlie, boldly.

"Suppose I say you shall."

"Then," said Charlie, firmly, "I say you are mistaken."

Our hero was a boy of spirit, and had no idea of being disposed of without his own consent. He commenced tugging away at his blue jacket with the intention of pulling it off.

"What are you doing?" asked Randall, with a frown, advancing and laying a heavy hand on the boy's shoulder. "Haven't I told you to keep those clothes on?"

"You have no right to interfere with me," said Charlie, stoutly, his eye flashing with indignation. "Give me back my clothes."

"You can't have them. If you strip off those you have on you'll have to go without any."

Exasperated, Charlie made a spring forward, and attempted to wrest his clothes from the hands of the mate.

"Ha, my fine fellow!" exclaimed Randall, as, evading the boy's grasp, he lifted them beyond his reach. "So you are inclined to be mutinous, are you? Very well, we have a remedy for all such cases, and a very simple one it is."

So saying, he drew a stout cord from his pocket, and advanced towards our hero with the intention of binding him.

Charlie sprang for the stairs, and was half way up before the mate caught him and dragged him back.

"Well, boy, you're a pretty tough customer—true grit. You're just the boy to make a sailor of. I must make sure of you."

So saying, he succeeded, in spite of Charlie's vigorous exertions, in tying his hands and feet. Not until thus rendered quite helpless did the brave boy suffer himself to burst into tears.

"What are you going to do with me?" he asked.

"I am going to make a sailor of you," answered the mate.

"But I don't want to go to sea," answered Charlie.

"So you said once before, but you'll change your mind before long."

"My mother will not know where I am. She can't get along without me, for she depends upon me in part for support."

"I dare say she'll get along somehow," said Randall, coolly. "She won't miss you much, and she ought to feel glad that your uncle has taken charge of you."

"Uncle!" retorted the boy, with flashing eyes. "I wouldn't own you as uncle for all the money in Boston."

"You wouldn't!" said Randall, his tone changing, and a dark look overspreading his face. "Very well, my bold lad, you may have reason to repent those words. You may find out by and by that it is as well to be civil to your superior officer. I will do nothing about it now, but when we are out of port and fairly at sea, look out!"

Charlie, who was quick-witted, caught a hint from these words, and at once set up a scream, hoping to draw attention from outside.

"That's your game, is it?" said the mate. "We'll soon stop that."

So saying, he drew out the boy's own handkerchief, and gagged him so that there was no further fear of his being able to make any disturbance which could be heard on the wharf or on neighboring vessels.

Feeling now secure, he left Charlie mute and helpless, and ascended to the deck.

"What was the noise I heard below, Mr. Randall?" asked the captain, pausing in his walk, and addressing his first officer.

"My nephew!" said Randall, with a smile.

"Ha! he is a little obstreperous, is he?"

"A trifle so."

"Doesn't like the society of his uncle sufficiently to want to go to sea with him, I suppose?"

"I dare say he would like to change his quarters," said Randall, composedly.

"How did you reconcile him to his fate?"

"A couple of strong cords and a gag did the business. They will keep him quiet till we get out to sea, and then perhaps we can discover some other means of bringing him to terms."

"A slightly different application of the cords, perhaps, Mr. Randall."

The mate smiled approval of this jest, and as his services were now in requisition to expedite preparations for departure, he left the captain and went about his duty.

Meanwhile the mate's conduct had not been unobserved by the crew. Among these was an old sailor who rejoiced in the name of Bill Sturdy. It is needless to say that this was not his real name. No one appeared to know what his real name was, and he had become so used to this, that he generally called himself so. The name Sturdy had probably been given him on account of his sturdy make. He was stout and very powerful. Probably there were no two men on board the ship who would not have felt some hesitation in attacking Bill Sturdy.

It may be added that the name was no less appropriate if we consider it bestowed on account of his character and disposition. He was unpolished enough, having beaten about the world all his life, yet he had been gifted by nature with a fund of sturdy common sense and powers of observation which made him more thoughtful and intelligent than most of his class. He had a kind heart, and hated to see oppression. This was his first voyage on board the Bouncing Betsey; the ship on which he had last served having been wrecked, and he with a few others having, with difficulty, saved themselves. Since he had engaged on board the Betsey, the stories he had heard of the captain's brutality led him to repent of his determination, and he had resolved within himself to remain on board but a single voyage.

He had had his attention drawn to our hero and the mate, and he observed that the latter came up alone from below.

"That's a trim, handsome little lad," he said to himself; "I wonder what the mate is so attentive to him for. There's some deviltry in the wind, as sure as my name is Bill Sturdy. I hope, for the boy's sake, he isn't going to ship with us. If he does. I must do what I can for him, for I mistrust he'll want a friend."