"WHERE'D you come aboard, b'y?" Captain Hand demanded.
"Long Tom, sir."
"Who shipped you?"
"I stowed away in a bunker, sir."
"You're from Ruddy Cove?" said the captain.
"Yes, sir. Me name's Billy, an' me father's a Labrador fisherman. Sure, I've sailed t' the French Shore, sir, an' I'm a handy lad t' work, sir."
"Billy what?"
"Topsail, sir."
The captain raised his eyebrows; then dropped them, and stared at the boy. He had been before the mast with old Tom Topsail on a South American barque in years long gone.
"You'll work hard, b'y," said he, severely, for he had been bothered with stowaways for thirty years, "an' I'll ship you regular, if you do your duty. If you don't," and here the captain frowned tremendously, "I'll have you thrashed at the post at Long Tom, an' you'll have no share with the crew in the cargo."