"The vessel will be wrecked, and you will lose your life."
"You will not volunteer to be the chief mourner if I do, Ben Waterford. For the present I intend to take care of myself."
"Thank you, Phil, for what you said about me," said Sanderson, leading Señor Bartolomé into the steerage.
"What's that?"
"You said you would trust me, drunk or sober, farther than you would that pirate. I give you the word and honor of an old sailor that I won't drink a drop of liquor till the cruise is up."
"I believe you, Jack. Rum is your only enemy."
"Thank you, Phil. What shall we do with this pirate?" he added, shaking the Spanish don very unceremoniously into the steerage, at the door of which he had paused.
"Pitch him into one of those berths. Tie his hands and feet so that he can use neither of them. If he wants to roll out of his berth, he may; but that's all he can do."
Sanderson followed my directions, and, after tumbling the don into the bunk, as though he rather relished the job, he tied his feet together.
"Now bring in the other," I added.