Levasseur dashed one hand against the other, as if dusting them.
“Heave that muck overboard,” he ordered some of those who stood idling in the waist. “Then up anchor, and let us after the Dutchman.”
“Steady, Captain. What's that?” There was a restraining hand upon his shoulder, and the broad face of his lieutenant Cahusac, a burly, callous Breton scoundrel, was stolidly confronting him.
Levasseur made clear his purpose with a deal of unnecessary obscenity.
Cahusac shook his head. “A Dutch brig!” said he. “Impossible! We should never be allowed.”
“And who the devil will deny us?” Levasseur was between amazement and fury.
“For one thing, there's your own crew will be none too willing. For another there's Captain Blood.”
“I care nothing for Captain Blood....”
“But it is necessary that you should. He has the power, the weight of metal and of men, and if I know him at all he'll sink us before he'll suffer interference with the Dutch. He has his own views of privateering, this Captain Blood, as I warned you.”
“Ah!” said Levasseur, showing his teeth. But his eyes, riveted upon that distant sail, were gloomily thoughtful. Not for long. The imagination and resource which Captain Blood had detected in the fellow soon suggested a course.