Jack was a general favourite, and had a peculiar fondness for me.

My other companion was Peterkin Gay.

He was little, quick, funny, decidedly mischievous, and about fourteen years old.

But Peterkin's mischief was almost always harmless, else he could not have been so much beloved as he was.
"Hallo! youngster," cried Jack Martin, giving me a slap on the shoulder, the day I joined the ship, "come below and I'll show you your berth.

You and I are to be mess-mates, and I think we shall be good friends, for I like the look o' you." Jack was right.