“Indeed!” said Ambrose, much astonished.
“Ay, indeed! And pretty work we’re like to have with it!”
“I marvel what the Doctor hath in mind,” said Ambrose. “You do not know, do you?”
“No, by Saint Marta!” answered he, crossing himself. “The Doctor’s intents and purposes are above us seamen. We a’n’t for to think; we’ve got our work to do, like old Barleycorn there. Say, old fellow!” cried he, “bring to for another kick!”
But the forester merely grumbled, as he plied his macheat further along the path.
“But who’s this brave young gentleman?” said the pirate, turning to me. “How do you do, mister?” (holding his hand out), “My name’s Jack Rodgers.”
I took the great hard hand, with a fit remark.
“You come in the King’s ship, didn’t you?” asked he.
“Ay,” said I.
“I thought you did,” said he. “Well, I must weigh. Fare you well, Mr. Clayton. Fare you well, Mr. Ambrose.”