“Na—na—na—na—na—boof! Ta—ta—ta—fuff!”
“No! only two, ye say! Ah! that won’t do for me. For ye see, shipmates—I s’pose I shall be callin’ ye so—’board the old Crusader, I’ve been ’customed to have my rum reg’lar, three times the day; an’ if it ain’t same on the Condor, in the which I’m ’bout to ship, then, shiver my spars! if I don’t raise sich a rumpus as—”
“Kurra—kurra—cro—cro—croak! Na—na—na—boof—ta—ta—pf—pf—piff!”
The sailor’s voice is drowned by the gibbering of the orangs, his gesture of mock-menace, with the semi-serious look that accompanied it, having part frightened, part infuriated them.
The fracas continues, until the darkey returns on deck followed by the skipper; when the cook takes charge of the quadrumana, drawing them off to his caboose.
Captain Lantanas, addressing himself to the sailor, asks: “Un marinero?” (A seaman.)
“Si, capitan.” (Yes, captain.)
“Que negocio tienes V. commigo?” (What is your business with me?)
“Well, capten,” responds Harry Blew, speaking the language of the Chilian, in a tolerably intelligent patois, “I’ve come to offer my sarvices to you. I’ve brought this bit o’ paper from Master Silvestre; it’ll explain things better’n I can.”
The captain takes the note handed to him, and breaks open the envelope. A smile irradiates his sallow face as he makes himself acquainted with its contents.