“Perhaps you will understand him too well one of these days, my cap’n!” “What do you mean by that?” said the badgered Dutchman, glaring. Frontin shrugged and winked at Crawford. “I am like the Sybil of Cumæ--my meanings show only in the course of time. But the excellent _Irondelle_ is plunging heavily; shall we go above and clear the forecastle of ice?” The three of them tramped to the deck, and Frontin’s whistle summoned the weary men. That night the gale moderated, though the stars did not show, and it had sunk by morning to a light breeze off the land which brought down a rolling bank of fog. After daybreak the wind freshened, and beneath its influence and that of the sun the fog slowly began to shred apart and dissipate. Crawford was standing watch when, without warning, the ketch suddenly slid through thinning fog into the brilliant sunlight of open day. Behind, the grey wall of fog went writhing down upon the horizon, and off the starboard bow was the morning sun, blazing upon a cloudless sky and a glittering blue sea unmarked by any patch of sail or purple loom of land. Sudden warmth pervaded the ship, and the watch on deck gratefully relaxed to its comfort. Crawford was standing beside the helm when he saw the man all agape, staring from sea to sky; a shout came from forward, and men pointed to the sun, and there arose a roar of discussion. “Where away be we going, master?” queried the helmsman. “Ha’ the sun changed his bed?” Crawford chuckled. “We’re bound north for Newfoundland, lad. North for gold and Spanish plate, in a place the skipper knows of. It’s there for the taking, and no fighting either; in and take it, out and sail south again to New York or where you will, and spend the broad pieces. Yet those fools for’ard don’t want to go north!” The helmsman hesitated, then grinned. “I’m with ’ee, master. Hast a pistol?” Crawford shook his head and refused the proffered weapon. Knife and tomahawk were at his belt, and he wanted no more. Also, that large tomahawk of Saint-Castin’s was nosed into the rail behind him, and he quietly stepped over and secured it. Trouble was close, for Bose and the other men were now on deck, all clustered in an excited knot. Now the knot burst, and aft strode the hulking figure of Bose, bearded and uncouth as any bear, with the men trailing to right and left. The ketch had but a slightly raised quarterdeck or poop; Crawford strode forward to the ladder of two steps and waited, secure in the knowledge that the helmsman would not pistol him in the back. The fourteen men came to a halt, sullen and anxious and alarmed, and Bose stepped out a pace, glowering at Crawford. “Master, we be headed nor’east by the sun!” “True,” said Crawford, his light-blue eyes searching into the ring of faces. “We’re for Newfoundland, where Spanish gold is waiting for us, and no Frenchmen around to hinder----”