“When my decks are cut up” (there was one groove across four planks), “and my plates buckled” (there were five lead patches on three plates), “and I meet such a boat as the 'Guadala', and a mere accident saves me from being blown out of the water--” “Yes. A mere accident, Captain. The shoal-buoy has been lost,” said the captain of the 'Guadala'. “Ah? I do not know this river. That was very sad. But as I was saying, when an accident saves me from being sunk, what can I do but go away--if that is possible? But I fear that I have no coal for the sea voyage. It is very sad.” Judson had compromised on what he knew of the French tongue as a working language. “It is enough,” said the Governor, waving a generous hand. “Judson of my soul, the coal is yours, and you shall be repaired--yes, repaired all over of your battle's wounds. You shall go with all the honours of all the wars. Your flag shall fly. Your drum shall beat. Your, ah!--jolly boys shall spoke their bayonets. Is it not so, Captain?” “As you say, Excellency. But the traders in the town. What of them?” The Governor looked puzzled for an instant. He could not quite remember what had happened to those jovial men who had cheered him over night. Judson interrupted swiftly: “His Excellency has set them to forced works on barracks and magazines, and, I think, a custom-house. When that is done they will be released, I hope, Excellency.” “Yes, they shall be released for your sake, little Judson of my heart.” Then they drank the health of their respective sovereigns, while Mr. Davies superintended the removal of the scarred plank and the shot-marks on the deck and the bow-plates. “Oh, this is too bad,” said Judson when they went on deck. “That idiot has exceeded his instructions, but--but yow must let me pay for this!” Mr. Davies, his legs in the water as he sat on a staging slung over the bows, was acutely conscious that he was being blamed in a foreign tongue. He smiled uneasily, and went on with his work. “What is it?” said the Governor. “That thick-head has thought that we needed some gold-leaf, and he has borrowed that from your storeroom, but I must make it good.” Then in English, “Stand up, Mr. Davies. What the--in--do you mean by taking their gold-leaf? My--, are we a set of pirates to scrape the guts out of a Levantine bumboat? Look contrite, you butt-ended, broad-breeched, bottle-bellied, swivel-eyed son of a tinker, you! My Soul alive, can't I maintain discipline in my own ship without a blacksmith of a boiler-riveter putting me to shame before a yellow-nosed picaroon. Get off the staging, Mr. Davies, and go to the engine-room. Put down that leaf first, though, and leave the books where they are. I'll send for you in a minute. Go aft!”