“Captain,” bawled Teach, “he was a-bragging of the cod and onions, the nuts and barley-water he meant to treat hisself to out of his share, as he calls it, when he gets to his home.”
“She made mine plood poil,” cried Wirtz; “und he laughs at me vhen I speaks of vhat ve eats in mine own country.”
“Señor,” exclaimed Antonio, “have not Jorge and me a right to a share?”
“Of what?”
“Of the money in the cases—of my country’s money—that you take out of the Spanish ship.”
“Bol shall slit your nose if you talk like that. You rascal! Is it not enough that we have saved your life? And what d’ye mean by your country’s money? Of what country are you?”
“I am of Spain, señor; born at Salamanca.”
“There is no money in your country,” shouted Greaves. “Ye are paupers all, cowards all, sneaks and rogues to a man.” Yan Bol laughed deep. “Speak again of the money below being the money of your country, and we’ll hang ye.”
“Señor,” said Antonio, “am I and Jorge to receive no money for working as sailors in this ship?”
“Not so much as will purchase you a rag to wind round your greasy ankles.”