All should share and share alike, save only the captain, quartermaster, boatswain, carpenter, and master-gunner, who had from a quarter to a whole share extra.  He who saw a prize first should have the best weapon taken out of her.  He who boarded her first should have the richest suit of clothes aboard of her.  Every man might treat his own prisoner, be it man or woman, after his own fashion.  If a man flinched from his gun, the quartermaster should pistol him.  These were some of the rules which the crew of the Ruffling Harry subscribed by putting forty-two crosses at the foot of the paper upon which they had been drawn.

So a new rover was afloat upon the seas, and her name before a year was over became as well known as that of the Happy Delivery.  From the Bahamas to the Leewards, and from the Leewards to the Windwards, Copley Banks became the rival of Sharkey and the terror of traders.  For a long time the barque and the brig never met, which was the more singular as the Ruffling Harry was for ever looking in at Sharkey’s resorts; but at last one day, when she was passing down the inlet of Coxon’s Hole, at the east end of Cuba, with the intention of careening, there was the Happy Delivery, with her blocks and tackle-falls already rigged for the same purpose.  Copley Banks fired a shotted salute and hoisted the green trumpeter ensign, as the custom was among gentlemen of the sea.  Then he dropped his boat and went aboard.

Captain Sharkey was not a man of a genial mood, nor had he any kindly sympathy for those who were of the same trade as himself.  Copley Banks found him seated astride upon one of the after guns, with his New England quartermaster, Ned Galloway, and a crowd of roaring ruffians standing about him.  Yet none of them roared with quite such assurance when Sharkey’s pale face and filmy blue eyes were tuned upon him.  He was in his shirt-sleeves, with his cambric frills breaking through his open red satin long-flapped vest.  The scorching sun seemed to have no power upon his fleshless frame, for he wore a low fur cap, as though it had been winter.  A many-coloured band of silk passed across his body and supported a short, murderous sword, while his broad, brass-buckled belt was stuffed with pistols.

“Sink you for a poacher!” he cried, as Copley Banks passed over the bulwarks.  “I will drub you within an inch of your life, and that inch also!  What mean you by fishing in my waters?”

Copley Banks looked at him, and his eyes were like those of a traveller who sees his home at last.  “I am glad that we are of one mind,” said he, “for I am myself of opinion that the seas are not large enough for the two of us.  But if you will take your sword and pistols and come upon a sand-bank with me, then the world will be rid of a damned villain, whichever way it goes.”

“Now, this is talking!” said Sharkey, jumping off the gun and holding out his hand.  “I have not met many who could look John Sharkey in the eyes and speak with a full breath.  May the devil seize me if I do not choose you as a consort!  But if you play me false, then I will come aboard of you and gut you upon your own poop.”