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."