This was a lean fellow with bright black eyes, glittering like a suspicious wolf's.
Between these corner posts sat the less distinguished sailors.

They might have been notable cutthroats in any other assemblage of hard-living men, but here they granted precedence willingly to the four more notable heroes.
Around the circle walked Jerry Hovey like a shepherd about his flock.
It was apparent that they all held him in high favor.

His chief claim to distinction, or perhaps his only one, was that he had served as bos'n for ten years under White Henshaw; but this record was enough to win the respect of even Garry Cochrane.
It was Jim Kyle who had peered into the face of Harrigan, for now he was pushing to one side the lantern he had used and settling back into his place in the circle.

He gestured over his shoulder with his thumb.
"How'd you happen to miss out with the Irishman, Jerry ?" "Talk low or you may wake him," warned Hovey.

"I lost him because the fool ain't sailed long enough to know White Henshaw.