or
three of that name myself. You were not referring to anyone on board,
were you?"

"I sure hope not," he scratched his head, staring up at me through the
dim light, wakefulness encouraging him to talk. "They tell me ye are a
sea-farin' man. Well, I wus a Deal fisher, but hev made a half dozen
deep-sea v'y'ges. Thet's how I hed the damn luck ter meet up with this
Sanchez I was a speakin' 'bout. He's the only one ever I know'd. I met
up with him off the isle o' Cuba. Likely 'nough ye know the devil I
mean?"

The question served to center my memory suddenly on a dim remembrance
of the past.

"No, unless you refer to 'Black Sanchez.' I 've heard of him; were you
ever in his hands?"

"Wus I!" he laughed grimly. "I hed eight months of it, mate, and a
greater demon never sailed. The things I saw done ye 'd never believe
no human bein' could do. If ever thar wus two people in one skin, sir,
it's thet Black Sanchez. When he's playin' off fer good he's as soft
an' sweet as a dandy in Picadilly, an' when he's real he's like a
devil in hell."

"Was you a prisoner--or did you sail under him?"

"Both, fer the matter o' thet. He give me the choice ter serve, er
walk the plank. I wus eighteen, an' hed an ol' mother at Deal."

"I see; but later you got away?"

"Ay, I did thet," chuckling over the recollection. "But I hed ter wait
eight months fer the luck. Hev ye ever been sea-farin' down in them
waters, off the West Indies?"

"No."

"Well, they're all studded over with little islands--cays, they call
'em down thare; an' it's in among them thet the buccaneers hide away,
an' sorter rest up after a cruise. Thar's a lot o' 'em too; whole
villages hid away on some o' them cays, with women an' children--every
color ye ever saw. Sanchez he made his headquarters on a cay called
Porto Grande. He hed three ships, an' maybe a hundred an' fifty men
'bout the time I got away. The last I saw o' him wus at sea. He'd
overhauled an English ship, an' sunk her; an' then the next mornin' we
took a Dutch bark in ballast. She wus such a trig sailor Sanchez
decided to keep her afloat, an' sent a prize crew aboard ter sail her
inter Porto Grande. I wus one o' the fellers picked fer thet job, an'
we wus told off under a nigger mate, named LaGrasse--he wus a French
nigger from Martinique, and a big devil--an' our orders wus ter meet
Sanchez three days later. His vessel wus a three-masted schooner, the
fastest thing ever I saw afloat, called the