‘“Looks like this road was going to be shut pretty soon,” says Frankie, humourin’ her at the tiller. “I’ll have to open that other one your Aunt foretold of.” ‘“The Spanisher’s crowdin’ down on us middlin’ quick,” I says. “No odds,” says Frankie, “he’ll have the inshore tide against him. Did your Aunt say I was to be quiet in my grave for ever?” ‘“Till my iron ships sailed dry land,” I says. ‘“That’s foolishness,” he says. “Who cares where Frankie Drake makes a hole in the water now or twenty years from now?” ‘The Spanisher kept muckin’ on more and more canvas. I told him so. ‘“He’s feelin’ the tide,” was all he says. “If he was among Tergoes Sands with this wind, we’d be picking his bones proper. I’d give my heart to have all their tall ships there some night before a north gale, and me to windward. There’d be gold in My hands then. Did your Aunt say she saw the world settin’ in my hand, Sim?” ‘“Yes, but ‘twas a apple,” says I, and he laughed like he always did at me. “Do you ever feel minded to jump overside and be done with everything?” he asks after a while. ‘“No. What water comes aboard is too wet as ‘tis,” I says. “The Spanisher’s going about.” ‘“I told you,” says he, never looking back. “He’ll give us the Pope’s Blessing as he swings. Come down off that rail. There’s no knowin’ where stray shots may hit.” So I came down off the rail, and leaned against it, and the Spanisher he ruffled round in the wind, and his port-lids opened all red inside. ‘“Now what’ll happen to my road if they don’t let me lie quiet in my grave?” he says. “Does your Aunt mean there’s two roads to be found and kept open--or what does she mean? I don’t like that talk about t’other road. D’you believe in your iron ships, Sim?” ‘He knowed I did, so I only nodded, and he nodded back again. ‘“Anybody but me ‘ud call you a fool, Sim,” he says. “Lie down. Here comes the Pope’s Blessing!” ‘The Spanisher gave us his broadside as he went about. They all fell short except one that smack-smooth hit the rail behind my back, an’ I felt most won’erful cold. ‘“Be you hit anywhere to signify?” he says. “Come over to me.” ‘“O Lord, Mus’ Drake,” I says, “my legs won’t move,” and that was the last I spoke for months.’ ‘Why? What had happened?’ cried Dan and Una together. ‘The rail had jarred me in here like.’ Simon reached behind him clumsily. ‘From my shoulders down I didn’t act no shape. Frankie carried me piggyback to my Aunt’s house, and I lay bed-rid and tongue-tied while she rubbed me day and night, month in and month out. She had faith in rubbing with the hands. P’raps she put some of her gifts into it, too. Last of all, something loosed itself in my pore back, and lo! I was whole restored again, but kitten-feeble. ‘“Where’s Frankie?” I says, thinking I’d been a longish while abed. ‘“Down-wind amongst the Dons--months ago,” says my Aunt. ‘“When can I go after ‘en?” I says.