And then at length came the last day, when, after passing the island, they had struck land again at the high white cliffs at Beachy Head.  As evening fell the ship lay rolling in an oily calm, a league off from Winchelsea, with the long, dark snout of Dungeness jutting out in front of her.  Next morning they would pick up their pilot at the Foreland, and Sir Charles might meet the King’s ministers at Westminster before the evening.  The boatswain had the watch, and the three friends were met for a last turn of cards in the cabin, the faithful American still serving as eyes to the Governor.  There was a good stake upon the table, for the sailors had tried on this last night to win their losses back from their passenger.  Suddenly he threw his cards down, and swept all the money into the pocket of his long-flapped silken waistcoat.

“The game’s mine!” said he.

“Heh, Sir Charles, not so fast!” cried Captain Scarrow; “you have not played out the hand, and we are not the losers.”

“Sink you for a liar!” said the Governor.  “I tell you I have played out the hand, and that you are a loser.”  He whipped off his wig and his glasses as he spoke, and there was a high, bald forehead, and a pair of shifty blue eyes with the red rims of a bull terrier.

“Good God!” cried the mate.  “It’s Sharkey!”

The two sailors sprang from their seats, but the big American castaway had put his huge back against the cabin door, and he held a pistol in each of his hands.  The passenger had also laid a pistol upon the scattered cards in front of him, and he burst into his high, neighing laugh.  “Captain Sharkey is the name, gentlemen,” said he, “and this is Roaring Ned Galloway, the quartermaster of the Happy Delivery.  We made it hot, and so they marooned us:  me on a dry Tortuga cay, and him in an oarless boat.  You dogs—­you poor, fond, water-hearted dogs—­ we hold you at the end of our pistols!”

“You may shoot, or you may not!” cried Scarrow, striking his hand upon the breast of his frieze jacket.  “If it’s my last breath, Sharkey, I tell you that you are a bloody rogue and miscreant, with a halter and hell-fire in store for you!”

“There’s a man of spirit, and one of my own kidney, and he’s going to make a very pretty death of it!” cried Sharkey.  “There’s no one aft save the man at the wheel, so you may keep your breath, for you’ll need it soon.  Is the dinghy astern, Ned?”

“Ay, ay, captain!”

“And the other boats scuttled?”

“I bored them all in three places.”

“Then we shall have to leave you, Captain Scarrow.  You look as if you hadn’t quite got your bearings yet.  Is there anything you’d like to ask me?”

“I believe you’re the devil himself!” cried the captain.  “Where is the Governor of St. Kitt’s?”