His face, which was so like his loving mother's, would have been effeminate, but for the savor of old Joe Robertson the pilot, which told in the marked nose and strong chin of the boy, but had no part in his great, clear, soul-lit eyes, or the flexible lines of his changing mouth.

That mouth was now parted as if he would say more, but waited for some word or sign from his companion.
Deny Duck was a very bundle of time-worn, storm-tried muscles and sinews.

The knots on his bare arms were like knobs of oak; and his great brawny hand that lay there on the white paper, looked like a powerful living thing, having almost an identity and will of its own.
Derry's body and whole development to his thighs were those of a tall, stalwart man; but his lower limbs were short and sturdy, ending in great flat feet which were as much at home in the water as on the rolling deck, or amid the dizzy rigging.

These peculiarities had given him the name by which he was known--originally "Daring Duck," but by degrees contracted into the "Derry Duck" which Blair had caught from the sailors.
It was hard to realize that the mate of the Molly had ever been an infant, whose tender cheek had been pressed to that of a loving mother.
And yet it was true that a Christian mother had once hailed that hardened man as a gift from God to nurse for him.

His lips had been taught to pray, and his young footsteps guided to the house of God.
Time had made sad changes in him since then.