Not only this, he brought out some scraps of bread and meat which he had stored up in a mess-tin, most likely for his breakfast, urging on us to "fire away," as we were heartily free to it, and regretting that was all he had with which to satisfy our hunger.
This man's name was Jorrocks, and he was the first seafaring acquaintance I had made when I had timidly crept down to the quay two years before during the summer vacation; thus, we were now old friends, so to speak.

He told us, after we had polished the mess-tin clean, that the brig was going to sail in the morning, for Newcastle, with the tide, which would "make," he thought, soon after sunrise.
"Why, that'll be the very thing for us," I exclaimed.

"Nothing can be better!" But Jorrocks shook his head.
"I don't know how the skipper'd like it," he said doubtingly.
"Oh, bother him," interposed Tom; "can't you hide us somewhere till the vessel gets out to sea; and then, he'll have to put up with our presence whether he likes it or not ?" "What, hide you down below, my kiddies!" said the man, laughing.

"Why, he'll larrup the life out of you with a rope's-end when he finds you aboard.

I tell you what, he a'most murdered the last stowaway we had coming out of Shields two years ago!" "Never mind that," I put in here; "we'll have to grin and bear it, and take monkey's allowance if he cuts up rough.