I caught the quick look of recognition in his eyes, but bent to my work as though indifferent to his presence, yet failed to escape easily.
"You must be a pretty tough bird, Gates," he said roughly, "or I would have killed you 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.