"Neither passenger nor pilot," I replied, "but an escaped prisoner from England, who is anxious to get a chance to fight for America again. I was captured from the Young Eagle, privateer."
The man's voice had surprised me. It was as fresh and young as a boy's. When I mentioned the Young Eagle he made a grimace as if he were about to whistle, but he changed it to a little rippling laugh.
"Oh, ho! Temple of Stonington, eh! Such a reckless, careless devil. I know him. Good sailor, though. So you would ship with us?"
"Yes, sir," I answered. "And try to do my duty."
"Oh, we can use you, never fear," the strange man chuckled. "And now where are we?"
"Eh?" I ejaculated.
"What's our latitude and longitude?" he inquired.
This was a puzzler for me, for I hardly knew one from the other, and could not have answered.
"Do you mean to say that you don't know that?" I asked, trying to fend off answering.
"I haven't the slightest idea where I am," he answered. "I don't know whether I'm in the English Channel, the North Sea, or the Bay of Biscay."