“I should like to get some silver or gold,” said Jamie.
“I daresay you would, and so perhaps you may if you look out for it. Go to your good friend, Captain Coppinger, and tell him what you want. He has made his pickings before now on shore and off wrecks, and has not given up the practice.”
“But,” said Mr. Mules, “do you mean to tell me that you people in this benighted corner of the world live like sharks, upon whatever is cast overboard?”
“No, I do not,” answered Scantlebray. “We have too much energy and intelligence for that. We don’t always wait till it is cast overboard, we go aboard and take what we want.”
“What, steal!”
“I don’t call that stealing when Providence and a southwest wind throws a ship into our laps, when we put in our fingers and pick out the articles we want. What are Porth-quin and Hayle Bay but our laps, in which lie the wrecks heaven sends us? And Doom Bar, what is that but a counter on which the good things are spread, and those first there get the first share?”
“And pray,” said Mr. Desiderius Mules, “have the owners of the vessels, the passengers, the captains, no objections to make?”
“They are not there. Don’t wait for our people. If they do—so much the worse for them.” Then Scantlebray laughed. “There’s a good story told of the Zenobia, lost four years ago. There was a lady on board. When she knew the vessel was on Doom Bar she put on all her jewelry, to escape with it. But some of our people got to the wreck before she got off it, and one lobe of her ears got torn off.”
“Torn off?”
“Yes—in pulling the earrings off her.”