ou last night--I had the mind too."

Something about his voice and manner led me to feel that, in spite of
his roughness, he was not in bad humor.

"That would have been a mistake, sir," I answered, straightening up,
rag in hand, "for it would have cost you a good seaman."

"Hoila! they are easily picked up; one, more or less, counts for
little in these seas."

He looked at me searchingly, for the first time perhaps, actually
noting my features. In spite of my dirty, disheveled appearance and
the bruises disfiguring my face, this scrutiny must have aroused his
curiosity.

"Why do you say that, my man?" he questioned sharply. "You were before
the mast and drifted aboard here because you were drunk--isn't that
true?"

"Partially, yes. It was drink that put me before the mast." I
explained, rejoicing in his mood, and suddenly hoping such a statement
might help my status aboard. "Three years ago I was skipper on my own
vessel. It was Rum ruined me."

"Saint Christopher! Do you mean to say you can read charts, and take
observations?"

I smiled, encouraged by his surprise, and the change in his tone.

"Yes, sir; I saw ten years' service as mate."

"What was your last ship?"

"The _Bombay Castle_, London to Hong Kong; I wrecked her off Cape
Mendez in a fog. I was drunk below, and it cost me my ticket."

"You know West Indian waters?"

"Slightly; I made two voyages to Panama, and one to Havana."

"And speak Spanish?"

"A little bit, sir, as you see; I learn languages easily."

He stared straight into my face, but, without uttering another word,
turned on his heel and went below. Whether, or not, I had made an
impression on the fellow I did not know. His face was a mask perfectly
concealing his thought. That he had appeared interested enough to
question me had in it a measure of encouragement. He would surely
remember, and sometime he might have occasion to make use of me. At
least I would no longer remain in his mind as a mere foremast hand to
be kicked about, and spoken to like a dog. I went back to my polishing
of brass in a more cheerful mood--perhaps this would prove the first
step leading to my greater future liberty on the _Namur_. I had
finished my labor on the carronade, and was fastening down securely
the tarpaulin, when a thin, stoop-shouldered fellow, with a hang-dog
face crept up the ladder to the poop, and shuffled over to where
LeVere was gazing out over the rail, oblivious to his approach.