Boatswain. Holla.
Sailor. Damn my eyes, Mr. Boatswain, but here's a black flag of truce coming on board.
Boatswain. Sure enough—where are they from?
Sailor. From hell, I suppose—for they're as black as so many devils.
Boatswain. Very well—no matter—they're recruits for the Kidnapper.
Sailor. We shall be all of a colour by and by—damn me—
Boatswain. I'll go and inform his Lordship and his pair of doxies of it; I suppose by this time they have trim'd their sails, and he's done heaving the log.
[Exit Boatswain.
Scene II. Near the state-room.
Boatswain. Where's his Lordship?