The Blue Lagoon by H. De Vere Stacpoole

Every hour or so Mr. Button would shake his lethargy off, and rise and look round for "seagulls," but the prospect was sailless as the prehistoric sea, wingless, voiceless. When Dick would fret now and then, the old sailor would always devise some means of amusing him. He made him fishing-tackle out of a bent pin and some small twine that happened to be in the boat, and told him to fish for "pinkeens"; and Dick, with the pathetic faith of childhood, fished.

Then he told them things. He had spent a year at Deal long ago, where a cousin of his was married to a boatman.