"Ay! and fairer," says Parsons; "for we got it by straightforward and honest fighting."
"And if we were more lively in our attack," puts in Rodrigues, "'twas because their galleons were unwieldy with their weight of gold."
"I count we do 'em a service to ease them of their load," says Parsons, "for they have more than they can carry with comfort" (this with a laugh at his own joke).
"Ay! but our love doesn't end there; for, look you, Ben, which is the better—to let your uncle's ships and treasure be cast away in the Orinoco, to lead fourscore men to misery and death in those fearful winds, or to carry them back home, every man rich for life? To suffer the Spaniard to carry that gold into Spain for the encouragement of Papistry and devilish cruelty, and the furnishing out another Armada, or to take it away from them for the benefit of our country and the honor and glory of our king?"
And in this manner they carried on the argument a long while, one playing the part of marrowbone to the other's cleaver, while I sat in silence and lost in wonder, like one who should of a sudden see a strange new sun rise up in the sky. At length I found the sense to speak, and, say I—
"But how can we attack the Spaniard when we are at peace with Spain?"
"Why," says Rodrigues, "peace there may be in these waters, for that matter; but there is no peace below the line, as every one does know."
"Nay," says I, "'tis nothing but piracy you offer."
"You may call it what you like," says he, "but I think it no shame for any man to walk in the shoes of Drake and Candish."
"'Tis a hanging matter, for all that," says I, still objecting.