Cartagena, the many he sent there afore he died. And Captain Paradise, he says, says he: ‘It’s ill crossing a dead man. We’ll obey him this once more’“ —

“Captain Paradise!” cried he of the ruff. “Who made him captain? — curse him!”

His fellow straightened himself with a jerk. “Who made him captain? The ship will make him captain. Who else should be captain?”

“Red Gil!”

“Red Gil!” exclaimed the other. “I’d rather have the Spaniard!”

“The Spaniard would do well enough, if the rest of us were n’t English. If hating every other Spaniard would do it, he’d be English fast enough.”