Land was nowhere in sight, and a chill, frosty air swept the deck of the Golden Moose as its captain confronted his crew with a new surprise.
He vouchsafed no explanation to them of his discovery of the boys, nor did he exhibit at first any curiosity as to how the stowaways had come aboard.
It seemed to be enough to him to know that the former object of his hatred and spite, Tom Dalton, was once more in his power.
Will Bertram had followed the Captain and Tom to the deck. As Morris flung the cabin boy with a violent jerk upon a pile of ropes he growled out, viciously:
“You stay there until I get the cat-of-nine-tails ready!”
Poor Tom crouched and cowered and hid his face in his hands, uttering moans of despair and terror.
Will grew sick at heart as he contemplated the brutal visage of the half-drunken Morris.
He summoned all his courage and boldness, however, and ventured to address him.
“Captain Morris, can I speak a word to you?”
Morris turned with a sneering snarl.