“Well, my buck, I’ll tell yer whar yer are, an’ likewise how yer got yere,” he chuckled.  “I wus one of a party frum this hooker ashore ’bout dusk, when yer hove in sight ’bout as drunk as a sailorman kin get.  Fact is yer wus so soused yer stumbled inter the wrong boat, and went ter sleep.  We’re allers ready fer ter take on a new hand er two, so we just let yer lie thar, an’ brought yer aboard.  ’Bout an hour ago yer must a had a touch o’ tremens, fer, all at onct yer cum chargin’ out on deck, an’ tried ter knife LeVere, an’ he flung yer overboard.  We sorter figured thet yer went down, an’ never cum up agin.”

LeVere broke in with a savage snarl.

“What’s all that?  Do you mean, Haines, that this is the same damned scamp who tried to stick me?”

“No doubt of it.  But he never knew what he was dloin’—­he wus crazy as a loon.  There’s nuthin’ fer yer ter fuss over now.  Tell us about it, Gates—­the bath must have sobered yer up?”

I watched LeVere, but he remained motionless, a mere shadow.

“I suppose it must have been thet, sir,” I confessed respectfully, “if things happened as you say they did.  I haven’t any memory o’ tryin’ ter slash nobody.  Leastwise I seemed ter know whut I wus about when I cum up.  I don’t remember how I got ther; furst I knew I wus slushin’ ‘round in the water, a tryin’ ter keep afloat.  It wus so blame dark I cudn’t see nuthin’, but sumhow I got grip on a hawser, an’ hung on till I got back ’nough strength ter clime on board.  I knew this wa’n’t my ship, so I just lay quiet awhile, figurin’ out whar I wus.”

“Yer English?” “Born in Bristol, sir, but I wus workin’ on the Caroline—­she’s a Colony schooner, in the fish trade.”

“Sailor?”

“At sea since I wus twelve.  What’s this yere bark—­Dutch, ain’t she?”

“Once upon a time; just now we are flying whatever flag cumes handy.  We ain’t got no prejudice in flags.”

“Is thet a gun forrard, covered with taupalin?”

“Yes, an’ yer might find another aft, if yer looked fer it.  Mor’n thet, we know how ter use ’em.  Now see here, Gates; thar’s no reason why we should beat about the bush—­fact is we’re sea rovers.”

“Sea rovers—­pirates, sir?”

“Bah! what’s a name!  We take what we want; it’s our trade, that’s all.  No worse than many another.  The question is, are yer goin’ ter take a chance ’long with us?  It’s the only life, lad—­plenty of fun, the best of liquor and pretty girls, with a share in all the swag.”

“What is the name of this bark?”

“The Namur—­sailed out o’ Rotterdam till we took her.”

“Whut wus yer in when ye took her?”

“The Vengeance, a three-masted schooner, the fastest thing afloat.  She’s south in West India waters.”

“Who’s the captain?”

“Silva Sanchez.”

“Gawd!  Sanchez—­not—­not ‘Black Sanchez?’”

“That’s him; so yer’ve heerd o’ ‘Black Sanchez?’ Well, we’re sailin’ ‘long with him, all right, mate, an’ yer ought ter know whut thet means fer a good man.”