“He didn’t ask me to move, and I did not know he was near me till he struck me.” “That’s a fact, yer honor,” interposed Tom Longstone. “The youngster was peaceable enough till Spriggs hit him, and he did not strike back till he was hit three times.” The two marines fully confirmed this testimony, though they had not witnessed the scene which preceded the affray. Spriggs was immediately ordered to the place of confinement on the orlop-deck, there to subsist for twenty-four hours on bread and water, with irons on his ankles. “Now, my lad, you are a green hand on board of a man-of-war,” said the officer of the deck, when the guilty party had been conducted below. “You must learn that fighting is never tolerated under any circumstances. This is your first offence, and I shall let you off.” “I beg pardon, sir,” stammered Jack, his face as red as the crimson bunting in the ensign at the peak,--“I beg pardon, sir; but I could not help it.” “Yes, you could help it. We don’t tolerate fighting. If you have any complaints to make, you will have a chance to be heard. Now go to your mess, and remember what I have said.” Jack touched his hat as he saw the others do, and went below. He was perfectly willing to remember what the officer had told him: but it did not exactly accord with his ideas; and he was very much afraid, that, under the same temptation, he should be likely to repeat the offence. “There, youngster, you’ve larned a lesson,” said Tom Longstone, as he settled himself upon the mess-bench, and resumed his labors at the dilapidated trousers he was attempting to restore to their former state of usefulness. “I’m much obliged to you for what you said for me,” replied Jack, as he took a seat by the side of the old salt. “You’re welcome, my hearty. I hope you won’t need a word from me again to keep you out of the ‘brig,’ which is the prison on board a man-of-war.” “I hope not; but I can’t stand it to be thumped round, as Spriggs began with me.” “You are smart and spunky, my lad; and I like you for’t: but, when one of them ere flunkies strikes you foul, you must sarve ’im out some other way.” “I don’t know any better way to serve out a bully than to give him as good as he sends, on the spot.” “Nor I neither, my lad; but ’twon’t do board a man-o’-war. That’s beatin’ to wind’ard for the sake o’ runnin’ on the rocks. Sheer off, and sarve ’im out some other way.” “A fellow will be bullied and trodden upon by every petty tyrant in the ship, if he submits to it.” “No, he won’t youngster. A man finds his level board a man-o’-war just as he does everywhere else. If a man behaves himself, everybody--officers and all--will treat him with respect. I’ve been in the navy thirty years, and I know it’s a fact.” “What could I do, when that man struck me? If I had submitted, he and others around would have repeated the insult.” “Sarve him out some other way,” replied old Tom mysteriously. “I don’t understand what you mean.”