"Shall we go aft, now?" said Hawkshaw, with irrepressible annoyance.
"Yes, please," replied Ethel, hastening away, on finding herself the centre of what she deemed a curious, but which was in reality an impertinently admiring group.
And, grasping the belaying pins to steady her steps, she hastened towards the quarter alone, for Hawkshaw remained behind, paralysed, and almost cursing her in his heart, on finding himself confronted by the bulky form and lowering front of Pedro Barradas.
He saw that Ethel, alone and unattended, had reached a seat near the taffrail, and was now beside her father, Rose, Dr. Heriot, and some of the ship's officers; so he turned hastily away, seeking to get aft by passing between the foremast and the forehatch; but there he was encountered by Bill Badger, the raw-boned, red-skinned, and ruffianly-looking Yankee, who said, while touching his hat in insolent mockery:
"Avast! I beg yer pardon, Capting 'Awkshaw, but haul yer wind. I calculate there's a yellow cove as wants to speak with yer uncommon pertic'lar—one o' the not-to-be-done squadron."
Turning, with rage and desperation in his heart, Hawkshaw affected a calm exterior, and said, suavely, to Barradas:
"I believe you wish to speak with me, my good fellow?"
"Ha! ha! ha! morte de Dios; how well he does it!" exclaimed the black-whiskered Pedro, slapping his huge thigh with a great brown, hairy hand, and showing a row of strong white teeth that a shark might envy. "But it won't do, capitano—caramba! it won't do!"
"I do not comprehend you, fellow!" said Hawkshaw, with an assumption of dignity.
"Oho! hallo, mates, he doesn't comprehend. Shall I make him?"