One of the Englishmen returned very briskly, “What had they to do there? that they came on shore without leave; and that they should not plant or build upon the island; it was none of their ground.”  “Why,” says the Spaniard, very calmly, “Seignior Inglese, they must not starve.”  The Englishman replied, like a rough tarpaulin, “They might starve; they should not plant nor build in that place.”  “But what must they do then, seignior?” said the Spaniard.  Another of the brutes returned, “Do? they should be servants, and work for them.”  “But how can you expect that of them?” says the Spaniard; “they are not bought with your money; you have no right to make them servants.”  The Englishman answered, “The island was theirs; the governor had given it to them, and no man had anything to do there but themselves;” and with that he swore that he would go and burn all their new huts; they should build none upon their land.  “Why, seignior,” says the Spaniard, “by the same rule, we must be your servants, too.”  “Ay,” returned the bold dog, “and so you shall, too, before we have done with you;” mixing two or three oaths in the proper intervals of his speech.  The Spaniard only smiled at that, and made him no answer.  However, this little discourse had heated them; and starting up, one says to the other.  (I think it was he they called Will Atkins), “Come, Jack, let’s go and have t’other brush with them; we’ll demolish their castle, I’ll warrant you; they shall plant no colony in our dominions.”

Upon this they were all trooping away, with every man a gun, a pistol, and a sword, and muttered some insolent things among themselves of what they would do to the Spaniards, too, when opportunity offered; but the Spaniards, it seems, did not so perfectly understand them as to know all the particulars, only that in general they threatened them hard for taking the two Englishmen’s part.  Whither they went, or how they bestowed their time that evening, the Spaniards said they did not know; but it seems they wandered about the country part of the night, and them lying down in the place which I used to call my bower, they were weary and overslept themselves.  The case was this:  they had resolved to stay till midnight, and so take the two poor men when they were asleep, and as they acknowledged afterwards, intended to set fire to their huts while they were in them, and either burn them there or murder them as they came out.  As malice seldom sleeps very sound, it was very strange they should not have been kept awake.  However, as the two men had also a design upon them, as I have said, though a much fairer one than that of burning and murdering, it happened, and very luckily for them all, that they were up and gone abroad before the bloody-minded rogues came to their huts.