The stranger folded his arms, and answered boldly:
"Yes, sir; I'm an escaped convict, as you call it, or as I should say, a runaway lag. I am the very man they were looking for this morning. My name is—never mind what it really is—I am best known as Galway Mike."
I observed that there was no Irish accent in his speech. The title by which he was known was evidently a misnomer.
"And how long have you been stowed away in the staysail?"
"Since last night, sir;" he replied.
"Did any of my crew help you, or stow you away?"
"No, sir. No one of them knew I was there until now, and you would not have known it till to-morrow, if you hadn't had occasion to hoist the sail."
"And what do you expect me to do with you now?" asked the captain, who was evidently impressed by the man's speech and bearing, and who had that repugnance that all seamen feel to delivering up to justice any man who has thrown himself on their protection. The certainty of a hundred pounds reward, would not, probably, have tempted a man of the ship's company to vote for putting back to land him, though none of us really wanted him as a shipmate.
"You'll do what you please with me, of course," answered the convict, coolly. "I don't care much what it is, so that you don't carry me back to the chain-gang. I hope you won't do that, sir."
"No, I'm sure I shall not do that, with a forty miles offing, a strong westerly wind, and homeward bound;" said the old man.