“Here,” says Don Sanchez, “is a master mariner who is prepared to risk his life, and here a merchant adventurer of London who will hazard his money, to redeem your mistress and her daughter from slavery.”

“Praise the Lord, Peter,” says the steward.  Whereupon the sturdy fellow with the cudgel fell upon his knees, as likewise did Simon, and both in a snuffling voice render thanks to Heaven in words which I do not think it proper to write here.  Then, being done, they get up, and the steward, having dried his eyes, says: 

“So far our prayers have been answered.  Put me in mind, friend Peter, that to-night we pray these worthy men prosper in their design.”

“If they succeed,” says Don Sanchez, “it will cost your mistress five-and-thirty thousand pounds.”

The steward clutched at the table as if at the fortune about to turn from him; his jaw fell, and he stared at Don Sanchez in bewilderment, then getting the face to speak, he gasps out, “Thirty-five thousand pounds!” and still in a maze asks:  “Art thou in thy right senses, friend?”

The Don hunches his shoulders and turns to me.  Whereupon I lay forth in pretty much the same words as Mr. Hopkins used, the risk of the venture, etc., to all which this Simon listened with starting eyes and gaping mouth.

“Thirty-five thousand pounds!” he says again; “why, friend, ’tis half of all I have made of the estate by a life of thrift and care and earnest seeking.”

“’Tis in your power, Simon,” says Don Sanchez, “to spare your mistress this terrible charge, for which your fine park must be felled, your farms cut up, and your economies be scattered.  The master here will fetch your mistress home for fifteen hundred pounds.”

“Why, even that is an extortion.”

“Nay,” says Jack, “if you think fifteen hundred pounds too much for my carcase and a ship of twenty men, you may seek a cheaper market and welcome, for I’ve no stomach to risk my life and property for less.”

“To the fifteen hundred pounds you must add the ransom of two thousand pounds.  Thus Mrs. Godwin and her daughter may be redeemed for thirty-five hundred pounds to her saving of thirty-one thousand five hundred pounds,” says the Don.

And here Dawson and I were secretly struck by his honesty in not seeking to affright the steward from an honest course, but rather tempting him to it by playing upon his parsimony and avarice.

“Three thousand five hundred,” says Simon, putting it down in writing, that he might the better realise his position.  “But you say, friend merchant, that the risk is as ten to one against seeing thy money again.”

“I will run the risk for thirty-one thousand pounds, and no less,” says I.

“But if it may be done for a tenth part, how then?”

“Why, ’tis your risk, sir, and not mine,” says I.

“Yea, yea, my risk.  And you tell me, friend sailor, that you stand in danger of being plundered by these infidels.”