Onslow stared at the man curiously. His truculent tone had left him completely. His hands had quitted the pistol-butts and were gripped on the bridge rail. His elbows were beating nervously against his ribs. From some mouth in the blacker shadow came a deep, derisive laugh; and then a voice (presumably from the laugher) said: “Who wants to go to New Orleans? Who wants to go nearer than the next key, or reef, or sandbank, or whatever it may be? Let’s pile up the blazing old tramp on that, and then boat-cruise across to Cuba. There’s nice, snug bays in Cuba, where the _guardacostas_ don’t ask questions; or, if they did, a bit of yellow ballast out of the boats would stop their jaws quick enough.” The voice laughed again and ceased. “Who spoke there?” Captain Kettle demanded. Out rolled into the bright circle the massive body of the donkeyman. “You!” The donkeyman knuckled his greasy cap in assent. “I’m your man, Capt’n,” he said, “but I’d be pleaseder to help ye carrying out the crew’s wishes than going agin them. You’ll be dealt by honustly, Capt’n—liberally—yes, better than ye ever have been in this world yet, or ever will be again—an’ the steamer will be lost at say. Blowed to rivuts an’ ould iron by a conspirathor’s bomb. It’s a most natural ending for her.” Kettle stared at the donkeyman with his mouth agape, and the eyes standing out of his head. His face was thrust out at full neck’s length; his fingers beat a vague tattoo on the white iron rail of the bridge. Then the crew’s original spokesman lifted up his unlucky voice for the second time: “Ach, vriends, we’re vasting minutes. We haf made up our mindts. Why should we not go und tivide ter cold mitout furder pother? Cood Ole Man! come and sgramble for a share like ter rest of us.” Slowly Captain Kettle stiffened. His eyes lost their stare and glinted unpleasant fire in their more proper orbits; his lower jaw closed up with a snap; his fists slid to his jacket pockets and gripped there. “You painted Dutchman!” The crew rustled uneasily. “Do I live to hear a set of dogs like you dictating to me? Does any man here think he’s going to have an inch of his own way aboard of me?” “Come, Captain Kettle,” said the quartermaster, who had talked before, “don’t be unreasonable. The Dutchman means well, though he didn’t put it Bristol fashion. And besides, we’ve made up our minds to share in that gold, and you’d better chip in and share too, without a dust. It’ll be a deal comfortabler for all hands, and besides, it’s got to be done, anyway. We’re all determined, and we’re too many for you, even if Mr. Onslow does stand in on your side.”