CHAPTER XXII IN WHICH I CHANGE MY NAME AND OCCUPATION
“THE sun shining on so much bare steel hurts my eyes,” I said. “Put up, gentlemen, put up! Cannot one rover attend the funeral of another without all this crowding and display of cutlery? If you will take the trouble to look around you, you will see that I have brought to the obsequies only myself.”
One by one cutlass and sword were lowered, and those who had drawn them, falling somewhat back, spat and swore and laughed. The man in black and silver only smiled gently and sadly. “Did you drop from the blue?” he asked. “Or did you come up from the sea?”
“I came out of it,” I said. “My ship went down in the storm yesterday. Your little cockboat yonder was more fortunate.” I waved my hand toward that ship of three hundred tons, then twirled my mustaches and stood at gaze.
“Was your ship so large, then?” demanded Paradise, while a murmur of admiration, larded with oaths, ran around the circle.
“She was a very great galleon,” I replied, with a sigh for the good ship that was gone.
A moment's silence, during which they all looked at me. “A galleon,” then said Paradise softly.
“They that sailed her yesterday are to-day at the bottom of the sea,” I continued. “Alackaday! so are one hundred thousand pezos of gold, three thousand bars of silver, ten frails of pearls, jewels uncounted, cloth of gold and cloth of silver. She was a very rich prize.”
The circle sucked in their breath. “All at the bottom of the sea?” queried Red Gil, with gloating eyes fixed upon the smiling water. “Not one pezo left, not one little, little pearl?”
I shook my head and heaved a prodigious sigh. “The treasure is gone,” I said, “and the men with whom I took it are gone. I am a captain with neither ship nor crew. I take you, my friends, for a ship and crew without a captain. The inference is obvious.”