Though he had just uttered an opinion directly contrary to his captain's, Hozier deemed it wise to be non-committal.
"The guns must have been laid badly," he said.
"Mebbe, an' wot's more, d—n 'em, they knew there was something in front that could shoot back."
So Coke was at least impartial. He cared not a jot how the Brazilians slaughtered each other so long as De Sylva established the new regime speedily.
"I never was a fightin' man meself," murmured Watts weakly. "That sort of thing gives me a sinkin' sensation in me innards."
"Wot you want is a drink, me boy," said Coke.
Watts brightened. He drew a deep breath.
"I reelly believe that's wot's wrong with me," he said.
"Then I'll just ax the cook to 'urry up with the corfee," guffawed the unfeeling skipper. "We'll all be the better for a snack an' somethink 'ot."
Iris managed to choke down an hysterical laugh. Coke was incorrigible, yet she was conscious of a growing appreciation of his crude chivalry. He boasted truly that he feared neither man nor devil. His chief defect lay in being born several centuries too late. Had he flourished during the Middle Ages, Coke would have carved out a kingdom.