1ST PIRATE (writing). French futile.
CHIEF (to 4TH PIRATE). I don't suppose it's much use, Francis. But try her in Geography.
4TH PIRATE. Well now, lady. If you was wanting a nice creek to lay up cosy in, atween Dago Point and the Tortofitas, where would you run to?
GOVERNESS. It-run to? But that isn't—of course I——
CHIEF (to 1ST PIRATE). Geography ghastly.
1ST PIRATE (writing). Geography ghastly.
CHIEF (to 5TH PIRATE). Give her a last chance, Mervyn. See if she knows any history.
5TH PIRATE. I suppose you couldn't tell me what year it was when old John Cann took the Saucy Codfish over Black Tooth Reef and laid her alongside the Spaniard in the harbour there, and up comes the Don in his nightcap. "Shiver my timbers," he says in Spanish, "but there's only one man in the whole of the Spanish Main," he says, "and that's John Cann," he says, "who could——"
(The GOVERNESS looks dumbly at him.)
CHIEF. She couldn't. History hopeless.