"Blaspheme not, my son; think upon the blessed Virgin; think on him who forgave the dying thief."
"I, the dying thief! be d—d to you. Bill, if you love me, chase the whining hypocrite from the cave. God's name! had I the strength, I would break his shaven pate for him."
"He don't want you, nor do I neither; so spread sail, old monk, and look sharp our lads don't tear your frock off your back or your hide off your old bones," said Bill, pushing the priest unceremoniously from him by the way he came in.
"What in the foul fiend's name brought you that pattering shaven-headed rascal here for?"
"I told you, but howsomdever let it pass. What did you want me for?"
"Sit down, Bill. I say, Bill, this cut isn't mortal, is it?"
"There's small doubt of that: you are overhauled at last. I bound it up, but the blood flows into your hold, when it is full you will sink."
"You lie, sirrah! and yet—yet, I do feel queery. D—n Ned for a villain; it was a cowardly felon-thrust. You will avenge me, Bill, if I flit."
"I promise you. Our band will go to wreck now when their skipper is gone."
"And yet, Bill, I may come it. I've escaped worse than this."