“Dot vhas so,” exclaimed Wirtz at the wheel, in his deep voice.
I observed that Galen had come aft and was standing with Travers and Teach at the gangway, within easy earshot of our voices: in fact, they were almost abreast of us t’other side of the deck, and our ship, as you know, was a little one.
“You want the brig’s course altered? For where?”
“For Amsterdam Island.”
“Yes, that island in the Indian Ocean which the Dutch discovered and gave a name to, and which you were talking about to me lately.”
“Mr. Fielding, ve vhas all good friendts. I like to talk mit you as a mate mit his captain. Ve vhas respectful, but, by Cott, ve vhas in bloydy earnest also.” He smote the palm of his left hand with his huge right fist and looked round, on which Galen, Teach, Travers, and others came aft. Friend flung down his palm and needle and joined the group; the Spaniards rose to their feet, but remained where they were.
I knew myself pale. I was startled—I was thunderstruck; down to this instant the crew had given me no hint to suspect their willingness to work the brig to the Channel. I fetched some labored breaths, recollected myself with a prodigious effort of resolution, and after looking first at one face and then at another, during which time I was eyed with great eagerness, with here and there the hint of a threat, but generally with countenances not wanting in respect, I exclaimed, “Who will tell me what it is you want?”
“Shall I speak, Mr. Bol?” said Teach.
“Shpeak,” cried Bol in his voice of thunder.
“The matter’s simple as countin’ your toes,” said Teach, addressing me. “There’s a cargo of silver down in the lazarette, aint there? The captain’s dead—him it rightly belonged to as the discoverer of it. He’s dead, and us men are agreed that his share—a lump we allow—should be divided among all hands, you being one of us.”