"'Appen," said Simpson, "and again, Captain, 'appen not. Them Spaniards makes out to be a sight too contented for my liking. They were as mad as hay about the way we shared up that treasure, an' they're far from liking t' idea of a happy week near owd Skin-the-Pike i' Tortuga. Now tha'llt not tell me they've forgotten; Spaniards is vengeful devils an' they niver forgets. And I tell tha' what, young feller, I'd be a deal more comfortable if they was up an' fighting with us."
"Pooh!" said Rupert lightly. "Spaniard-hating has grown to be a disease with you, Master Simpson. And, besides, we have taken our precautions. Look at the sentries. You can see the matches burning in their tubs from here."
"A Spaniard is as artful as a bagful of monkeys."
"And we fancy we are not without some strategy ourselves."
Simpson put a thumb on his chin. "Look here, now, young feller. I'd like t' 'ave tha' a bet on about it. I'll lay tha' an even pint potful o' silver pieces they try to have their knives into us before we've an anchor down in Tortuga Harbour."
"I'll take your wager with pleasure."
"Well," said Simpson, with a wink, "it's my brass," and there the talk ended.
But that night, when Master Laughan was officer of the watch and was patrolling the poop with due form and ceremony, the Yorkshireman came up and made an announcement of his plans in a cautious whisper. "I'm bahn to win yon bet, if cleverness will do it, and just to give Captain Rupert a suck in."—He winked, and patted the secretary's arm confidentially.—"I know these Spanish beggars more than a bit, an' it's my belief they wouldn't cower so quiet unless they were hatching mischief. Now say note to Rupert, lad, an' if tha' hears them cutting my throat forrard, call all the hands aft here and clear the decks for bloody war. By gum, I'll win yon potful of pieces, choose 'ow."—With which he took himself off up the mizzen rigging, and was lost in the blackness of the night overhead.
It was clear that the man thought more of winning his paltry wager than of insuring the safety of his fellow-buccaneers, and the secretary smiled (but with tears in her eyes) as she thought of his crazy daring. But it seemed, when he came back afterwards to tell his tale, that Master Simpson had a shrewd notion of taking care of his own skin even when he so dangerously risked it. As has been said, the waist and the lower maindeck of the carrack was lit with battle lanthorns, but these only accentuated the darkness which wrapped the rest of her. The Yorkshireman, despite his size and weight, could climb with an ape's handiness. He made his way up to the mizzen topmast head, keeping always in the shadow of the spars and canvas; then like some uncouth crawling insect laid out along the stays, reaching first the main, and then the fore top mast head and finally slipping down the outer bolt-sprit stay, and crouched in the top of the mast there for a moment to recover breath. Below him, past the gammoning of the bolt-sprit, was the open-work of the ship's beak, upheld by her figure-head, and in the high wall of the forward castle beyond, the lamplight gleamed out warmly through the two open gun-ports.
Quietly Master Simpson made his way down by the foot ropes, keeping most jealously to the shadows, and finally took up his post beneath one of these openings, settling himself comfortably so as to avoid unnecessary cramp. He would certainly have been killed a hundred times over if he had been caught there, but he stayed coolly on, listening to the chatter inside, hour after hour, and still hearing nothing of especial moment. It was terribly risky work. But as he explained afterwards he learned nothing of moment and wasn't inclined to give up hope of winning the bet till daylight came in and clearly routed him. He said he came from a country where they meant winning when they laid a wager, whatever it might cost to bring success.