“But I remember once reading how bloodthirsty the Malay pirates are.”
“I don’t think the English, Spanish, or French pirates were much better,” said the mate, laughing. “Pirates are generally the scum of the ports they sail from; reckless, murderous ruffians. But I should say that of all pirates out in the East, the gentle, placid, mild-looking Chinaman makes the worst; for he thinks nothing of human life, his own or any one else’s.”
“But there are no pirates now, of course,” said Jack quietly.
The mate turned and looked him in the eyes.
“Do you want me to tell you some murderous narrative?”
“Oh no; I don’t care for such things. I know, of course, that there used to be plenty.”
“So there are now,” said the mate. “They have hard work to carry on their piracies; but every now and then we have a bad case. They mostly come from the Chinese coast; but they are made up of ruffians of all kinds.”
Jack was silent for a few moments.
“I heard Captain Bradleigh say that the men were all trained to use the small-arms,” he said at last quietly. “Would they fight if we were attacked?”
The mate hummed over a bit of a once popular song, beginning, “We don’t want to fight, but by Jingo if we do.”