“Yes, but what island?”
“Don’t it say?” demanded Mr Dawkins, irritably. “There, on the paper, where you’re a-looking?”
“Oh!—Cozumel Island,” said Pomfrett, referring to the script.
“That’s it—Cozumel. A man,” said Mr Dawkins, with a defiant glance at Gamaliel, “cannot carry in his head all the names of all the islands in the South Seas, which is thick as peas with ’em. Ain’t that so, Hookey?”
“To be sure,” assented Gamaliel, smoothly.
“And when did you find this, Mr Dawkins?”
Dawkins looked at Gamaliel.
“A matter of a year ago, wasn’t it?” said Gamaliel.
“Sure enough,” said Dawkins. “That were it—a year ago.”
“Why did you leave the Ranger?” I asked; for, at this time, when England was at war with both France and Spain, men were scarce aboard ships-of-war, and not lightly let go.