Dane and Dutchman, with Tarry and Slush, speak in the same strain.
The scene is as short, as violent. The Spaniards perceiving themselves in a minority, and a position that threatens unpleasant consequences, soon yield, declaring their consent to an equal distribution of the “dust.”
After which, the men belonging to the off-watch retire to the forecastle, and there betake themselves to their bunks; while the others scatter about the decks.
Gil Gomez remains at the wheel, his time not yet being up; Hernandez beside him. For some moments, the two are silent, their brows shadowed with gloom. It is not pleasant to lose fifty thousand dollars apiece; and something like this have they lost within the last ten minutes. Still there is a reflection upon which they can fall back well calculated to soothe them—other bright skies ahead.
Gomez first returning to think of this, says:
“Never mind, amigo. There will be money enough to serve our present purposes all the same. And for the future we can both build on a good sure foundation.”
“On what?”
“On our ‘Castles in Spain!’”