“Well,” said Mr Murch, answering our thought, “so Mr Dawkins is cracking on for Yucatan, is he? From what I saw of your ship, I should say Dawkins could knock nine knots out of her, on a wind. He’ll soon fetch up in Catoche Bay. Now, I wonder, Mr Supercargo, if your owners would entertain a claim for salvage? I mean, if Dawkins were taken, now, with the plate on board, what, sir, on behalf of your owners, would you propose, for example?”
Mr Supercargo, excited but cautious, was understood to propose full and adequate compensation. Mr Murch appeared to reflect upon the proposition.
“Now,” he resumed, presently, “you know my rule,—a clean ship alow and aloft, nothing to hide, nothing hidden. Plain, open dealing. I tell you, candidly, I should find it hard to get a ship. I was one of Morgan’s men, you see. I’m earmarked. Every governor in these islands is bound to put down piracy. That is, if he hears of it. He’s not forced to ask questions. But Jevon Murch—no, they couldn’t allow Jevon Murch. That were too undisguised. But you, my lads,” says the old gentleman, stroking his beard and surveying us with narrowed eyes, “you could take your pick of every clipper bottom in the Indies.”
“There’s a trifling obstacle—we’ve no money,” said Pomfrett.
“There’s money to be had, perhaps,” said Murch. “I’ll be plain with you. I’ve a notion to end my days in England—I want to see Mistress Morgan settled there before I die. But England is no place for a poor man. I should have to sell the plantation, you see. To leave the estate to an agent is as good as to lose it—no reflection intended, Mr Pomfrett, I assure you. The sale would bring something, but not enough. How am I to get more? I’ll tell you, and here’s my offer. You get the ship, I’ll find the money. Fit her out as a privateer, and make sail after Dawkins. If we catch him, there’s your ship for you and salvage for me. If we don’t, why, with two stout ships I’ll engage to cut the guts out of Frenchman and Spaniard from the River Plate to California. It would be worth my while, you see. The question is, do you take it to be worth yours, Mr Agent?”
Mr Agent sat gazing upon the old pirate out of troubled blue eyes. The noise of the wind filled the room, thundering about the house, and beating with muffled blows upon the windows. Before the same gale Dawkins was slipping northward.
“Isn’t it too late?” said Brandon, dubiously.
“For Dawkins? No,” returned Murch. “No, I think not. I’ll tell you why. Dawkins will require another-guess crew to what he shipped with. There’s old seamen who’ve sailed on the account scattered in every port from here to Tortuga. Dawkins will shed his green stuff on the beach and fill up with the preserved ginger, if I know him. Let him, I say. All the better for us.”
Another pause, the hurry and the tumult of the wind mixed with the hurry and tumult of our minds. The new prospect was so unexpected, so suddenly opened, we were confounded. Mr Murch sat looking placidly down his nose.
“I’ll wager,” said he, presently, “you are wondering how I can trust two strange gentlemen so instantly. Simple enough. At my age, I can tell a man when I see him. At yours, now—why, you’re thinking even now that you put your heads in the lion’s mouth when you ship with me; deny it if you can,” says the old gentleman, creasing his face into a grin that curved his mouth upward, revealing his strong white teeth.