Captain Swarth swung himself into the mizzen-rigging and answered through his hands with an excellent cockney accent: "Tryde Wind o' Lunnon, Cappen Quirk, fifty-one dyes out fro' Liverpool, bound to Callao, gen'ral cargo."
"You were not heading for the Horn."
"Hi'm a-leakin' badly. Hi'm a-goin' to myke the coast to careen. D'ye happen to know a good place?"
An officer left the group and returned with what Captain Swarth knew was a chart, which a few of them studied, while their captain hailed again:
"See anything more of that pirate brig the other day?"
"What! a pirate? Be 'e a pirate?" answered Captain Swarth, in agitated tones. "Be that you a-chasin' of 'im? Nao, hi seed nothink of 'im arter the fog shut 'im out."
The captain conferred with his officers a moment, then called:
"We are going in to careen ourselves. That fellow struck us on the water-line. We are homeward bound, and Rio's too far to run back. Follow us in; but if you lose sight of us, it's a small bay, latitude nine fifty-one forty south, rocks to the north, lowland to the south, good water at the entrance, and a fine beach. Look out for the brig. It's Swarth and his gang. Good morning."
"Aye, that hi will. Thank ye. Good marnin'."
In three hours the brig was a speck under the rising land ahead; in another, she was out of sight; but before this Captain Swarth and his crew had held a long conference, which resulted in sail being shortened, though the man at the wheel was given a straight course to the bay described by the English captain.