poured into the black ship's hold was as great as the rivers of blood that poured off her decks."
The Captain gave a pleasurable shiver.
"Like enough," he observed, "'tis some o' that treasure we're after now?"
"Like enough," Bobstay agreed; "there was a deal of it. Felipe Astores, the captain's name was—a treacherous Spaniard he were. And his fate and the fate of his black ship came as he deserved."
"How?" said Garth, detaching his eyes from the sail to gaze in admiring worship at his talented shipmate. The narrator reflected.
"Well," she continued, "'t were one night when the Captain had buried some treasures—as black as a pot it wos, sir—that he must needs have a feast to his own glory. And the rum went pretty free, sir, till by the end there was none could rightly manage a ship aboard her. Them in the cabin was at their worst, and me still serving of them, frighted of my life so I dared not refuse, when the watch sings out, 'Breakers ahead!' Mr. Branton, the mate, and two others staggers up on deck, but the orders they gave wos half-crazed, and the men knew not which to obey."
