"Pretty soon them drunken devils come a-tumblin' out of the fore hatch, picks up half a dozen capstan bars and some belyin' pins and a marlin spike or two and runs aft a-hollerin' and yellin'. I gives 'em one warnin' and then fires."
The "pirate" stopped, coughed and looked around.
"Oh, please go on," begged Pauline.
"Yes, miss," replied the sailor, "but this talking affects my throat.
Could you possibly—?"
"Why, certainly," interrupted Owen, "I'll get you a drink."
After the sailor had swallowed the biggest drink ever poured out in that house he continued:
"Yes, that was as neat a fight as I ever was in. There was some twenty of 'em all told."
"And what happened then?" demanded Pauline.
"Well, Miss, it come on to blow, and there was the old ship staggerin' along under full sail. It was all I could do to keep the old hulk from foundering', at that, but I stuck to the wheel day after day and night after night. To keep from freezin' I had to drink a lot of grog. Oh, a powerful lot of grog. So much grog that I've been dependent on it ever since—and I'll take a little now, if it's agreeable." It wasn't exactly agreeable, but he got it and continued. "Finally we fetched up, ker-smack, on the rocks of a desert island. All the boats had been smashed and carried away by the storm, so I had to build a raft. The first two loads was all provisions, and then I took the treasure ashore—"
"What treasure?" asked Pauline.