"Gadzooks!" he said, "but that was a master-stroke! Who are you and where do you come from?"
I was drawing on part of my clothing, and a fit of embarrassment had hold of me. Now why I spoke as I did I cannot account for.
"My name is Debrin," I replied, taking the name that my uncle was known by at Miller's Falls. "I've come to ship on board the Young Eagle. Cy Plummer spoke to me about her."
The Captain threw back his head and laughed.
"You'll ship all right, lad. I'm Temple, of the Young Eagle. What's your first name?"
"John," I answered.
"Go below, Bullard, and make out articles for this lad to sign—John Debrin, instructor in small arms. Never knew of one in a privateer before, but I'll create one."
Then and there he made me show him what I knew about handling a weapon. In fact he treated me as if I were altogether his equal, and I soon lost any feeling of discomforture. As this is the only time that I ever saw Captain Temple in such a mood, I have dwelt on it. But to shorten this part of my chronicle: I signed the articles that Bullard brought up with him, and insisted upon giving up my room, which the Captain apparently took with reluctance, and I slept on the floor in a corner of the hallway.
From my clothes Temple must have judged me a seaman, for he asked no questions on that head, and apparently was satisfied with the explanation that I came from Chesapeake Bay, had sailed in the brig Minetta, and had been taught swordsmanship by an old Frenchman.
I awakened in the morning with the puzzled consternation of one unused to find himself in new surroundings, and with the feeling that last night's goings-on had been a dream. A glance at the paper in my pocket, however, proved that it was not.