"Bolter—Benjamin Bolter, sir."
"Well, fellow?"
"May I talk to you a'thout bein' fired on?"
"Certainly; come forward."
Bolter, the Canadian, appeared at the rim of the skylight, looking down with watery, bloodshot eyes, a pale, unwholesome visage, and a black mouth, furred by dissipation and squalor.
"What do you want?" demanded Captain Phillips, with a tone of impatience and authority.
"Pedro Barradas has sent me aft to speak to you."
"About what?"
"The state o' matters aboard, sir."
"Oho! you are coming to your senses at last, are you?"