A second man holding a lantern raised it to my face and peered at me. I had seen both fellows in this place before; they were the boatswain and the sailmaker. ‘What are you a-doing down here?’ said the sailmaker. The boatswain now let me go, and I stood upright before the two men, still dazed and horribly frightened, though my wits were slowly returning. ‘I’m doing no harm,’ said I, blinking at the light, which, as it was held close, put an insufferable pain into my eyes. ‘I hid myself. I want to get to Australia.’ ‘Australia, is it?’ thundered the boatswain. ‘Why, you young rooter, d’ye know we ain’t bound to Australia? Where did ye come aboard?’ ‘Woolwich.’ ‘D’ye know this is a convict ship?’ ‘Yes, I know it.’ ‘Has he been a-broachin’ of anything?’ said the sailmaker, holding high the lantern and slowly sweeping its light round the interior. ‘What are ye?’ said the boatswain, whose voice was louder than that of any man I had ever heard or could dream of. ‘A runaway boy,’ said I. ‘Take me on deck. I’m sick for the want of light.’ ‘Sails, d’ye hear him?’ said the boatswain. ‘By the great anchor, as my old mother used to say, but here’s one I allow as has squeezed through the hawse-pipe on his road to the quarter-deck, for, hang me, if he hain’t a-hordering of us already.’ ‘What’s your trade, Jimmy?’ said the sailmaker, addressing me. ‘Nuxman or jigger, or are you a lobsneaker, hey? Self-lagged, by the Lord!’ ‘Come along aft and see the capt’n,’ said the boatswain. He then spoke to the sailmaker about the sails which they had apparently descended to view, and, catching me by the arm, walked me under the hatch, where he came to a stand. ‘Been here since Woolwich, ye say?’ ‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘All in the dark?’ ‘Yes.’ ‘What have you eaten and drunken?’ ‘I brought some food with me.’ ‘Are you one of a gang?’ And here he rolled a pair of large glassy eyes over the casks and coils of rope. He was a very powerful seaman, deeply bitten by small-pox and without a right ear. ‘I am alone,’ said I. ‘Up ye go!’ he cried, and he partly hoisted and partly tossed me through the hatch on to the upper deck. It was broad day, though the interior of the forecastle into which I had emerged was gloomy. Beyond the forecastle-entrance the white and windy sunshine was coming and going to the frequent sweep of clouds athwart the sky. The brightness of that light thrilled my eyes with pain, and I turned my back upon it, putting my hand to my head for a few moments. ‘’Tisn’t everybody, mates, that goes to sea afore the mast as signs on,’ said the boatswain, generally addressing a few sailors who had risen from their sea-chests or lounged out of the shadow forward to look at me. ‘If this here was a female convict ship, Mr. Balls,’ said one of the men, ‘you’d find that that there covey was after one of the gals.’