Looking down from the quarter-deck the Old One spied the cook, who had come up to warm his bald head and fat face in the sun and to clear the smoke from his nostrils¹. "Ho, cook," quoth he, "I have a task for thee. Break out from the cabin stores rice and currants and cinnamon and the finest of thy wheaten flour. Seek you also a few races of green ginger². It may chance there is even a little marchpane, for this man Candle had a gentle palate. Spare not your old cheese, and if you unearth⁴ a cask of fine wine fail not to tell of it. In a word, draw forth⁵ an abundance of the best and make us such a feast as a man may remember in his old age."  
The cook smiled and rubbed his round paunch (yet cringed a little), for he was of a mind, being never slow in such matters, to filch⁶ from the cabin table whatever he might desire and his heart warmed to hear the good victuals⁷ named. "Yea, master," he cried, "for thee and for Mate Malcolm?"
 
"Nay⁸, thou parsimonious⁹ dog! Think you that such are the manners of gentlemen mariners¹⁰? Times have changed. Though I be master, there is no salt at my board. One man is as good as another and any man may rub his shoulder with mine."
 
The Old One's own men chuckled¹¹ at the cook's blank face and the boy shivered when he thought that he must wait on them all, of whom one was as likely as another to fetch him a blow on the head. But the cook went down below and they heard him bawling¹² to his mate to come and help break out the cabin stores, and word went through the ship of what was afoot. And though Will Canty and the boatswain, meeting, glanced dubiously¹³ each at the other, as did others of the Rose of Devon's old company,—for matters are in a sad way in a ship when the master feasts the men,—all the foolish fellows were clapping one another on the back and crying that here was a proper captain, and there was none quite so mad as to dispute them in so many words.
 
The smoke grew thick between the decks, and after a while there rose the smell of baking and roasting, and the foolish ones patted their bellies¹⁴ and smacked¹⁵ their lips. They whispered about that the boy was spreading with a linen¹⁶ cloth the table in the great cabin and that the cook's mate was staggering under weight of rich food; and when the cook called for men to hoist¹⁷ out a cask of such nectar as poor sailors know not the like of, a great cheer went up and there were more hands to haul than there was room on the rope.
 
The Old One, leaning on the poop, smiled and Harry¹⁸ Malcolm, coming to join him, smiled too; for they knew well the hearts of sailormen and did nothing without a purpose.
 
So the table was laid and the feast was spread and in came the men. Only one remained at the helm, for the wind was light, which made light his task; six remained on deck to watch and stand by, with Harry Malcolm curled against the light gun on the quarter-deck to command them; and the cook and his mate, resting from their labours far down in the hold, gorged¹⁹ themselves on good food and drank themselves drunk on nappy liquor from a cask they had cannily²⁰ marked for their own among the cabin stores. Of the rest, all that could find room crowded into the great cabin, and all that could find no room in the cabin squatted²¹ on the deck outside the door on the very spot where Francis Candle had fallen dead. They sat with their backs against bulkheads and stanchions, where they, too, could join in the feast and the council; and the boy, when all were fed, gathered meat from under the table like old King Adoni-bezek of unhappy memory.
 
It was a sight to remember, for very merry they were and save as they were rough, hard-featured men, a man would never have dreamed they bore blood on their hands and murder on their hearts. The Old One sat at the head of the table and took care that neither food nor wine was stinted²². The carpenter, his one eye twinkling with pleasure and his beard waggling in his haste lest another should get ahead of him at trencher work, sat on the Old One's right, which was accorded him as a mark of honour since he had accomplished²³ marvels²⁴ in restoring the planking the storm had torn asunder²⁵. A stout²⁶ seaman²⁷ of the rescued men, Paul Craig by name—it was he who had needed two blows to kill the helmsman—sat at the Old One's left and squared his big shoulders over his meat and ate like a hog²⁸ till he could hold no more, for he was an ox of great girth and short temper and little wit, who ate by custom more than did him good. Another of gaunt frame, Joseph Kirk by name, sat smiling at a man here and a man there and tippled till his head wagged; and off in a corner there sat a keen little man with a hooked nose, who was older than most of those in the cabin yet had scarcely a wrinkle to mar³ the smoothness of his shaven face save above and behind his eyes, where a few deep lines gave him the wild look of a hawk²⁹.
 
When he spoke³⁰, which was seldom, thick gutturals confused his words, and always he sat in corners. Does not a man looking out of a corner, with a wall on two sides of him and no one behind him, see more than another? His Christian³¹ name was Jacob and most of them knew him by no other; but mocking him they called it "Yacob." Further than that, which he took with a wry³² smile, they refrained from mocking him, for though he spoke little, his silence said much.
 
The Old One rose and very sober he was as he held high a brimming can, and so steady was his hand that not a drop spilled. For a space he paused and looked around at the rough company seated at the long table and crouching³³ in the mellow³⁴ shadows beyond the door, then, "To the King!" he cried.
 
Those not knowing him well, who stared in perplexity at such a toast in such a place and time, saw his eyes twinkle and perceived he was looking at old Jacob in the corner. Then old Jacob, smiling as at a familiar jest, rose in turn and raised his can likewise, and pausing to look about him, cried back at the Old One in his thick foreign voice, "The King and his ships—be damned!"
 
A yell of laughter and derision shook the cabin. The one-eyed carpenter leaped up first, then such of the rescued men as were not too drunk to stand, then here and there men of the Rose of Devon's company, some eagerly in all earnestness, others having a mind to keep their throats in one piece, for they perceived that like enough the unholy toast was but to try their allegiance.
 
The Old One's eyes leaped from man to man and his cold voice cut through the noisy riot of drunken mirth. "I had said Will Canty was a man of spirit, but his can hugs the table when these tall fellows are drinking confusion to the King."
 
"A hand-napper, a hand-napper! Have him away, my hearts, to the Halifax engine," Joe Kirk bawled³⁶ with a drunken leer.
 
"Why," said Will Canty, and his face was white, but with a red spot on either cheek, "my can, since you say what you say, was dry; and for the matter of that, I am no prating³⁷ Puritan who wishes ill to the King."
 
Over the rumble³⁸ of voices the Old One's voice rose loudest: "See you, then, religious cobblers or preaching button-makers among us?"
 
"And there are others yet besides prating Puritans, mine friend, that drink our toast!" cried Jacob.
 
The Old One then smiled, for he was no man to drive a nail with a two-hand sledge³⁹. But although he changed his manner as fast and often as light flickers⁴¹ on running water, under the surface there flowed a strong, even current of liking⁴² or ill will, as sooner or later all men that had dealings with him must learn, some to their wonder and some to their sorrow. "Enough, enough!" said he. "Will's a good lad and he'll serve us well when there's powder smoke to snuff. Be you not offended, Will. In all faith our ship is a king's ship and more, for are we not thirty kings, to fight our own battles and heave out our own flag before the world and take such treasures as will buy us, each and all, a king's palace and all the wives a king could wish? Nay, God helping⁴³ us, my hearts, we shall carry home to good Mother Taylor riches that will serve for a sponge to wipe the chalk from every black post in Cornwall and in Devon, and Will Canty shall drink with us there."
 
There rose a thunder of fists beating the board and a rumble of "Yea's," and the Old One made no end of smiling, but there were some whom his smile failed to deceive.
 
"Come, boy, with thy pitcher⁴⁴ of sack! Pour sack for all!" he cried. "Come, ply⁴⁵ thy task and let no man go wanting. Fill you Will Canty's pot." He gulped⁴⁶ down a mighty⁴⁷ draught⁴⁸ and wiped his moustaches with thumb and forefinger⁴⁹. "And now, brave lads, let us have our heads together: though we lie but a hundred leagues off these banks of Newfoundland, what say you? Shall we turn our backs on them and take a fling at a braver trade? Or shall we taste of fat lobsters⁵⁰ and great cod⁵¹, and perchance pluck the feathers from some of these New England towns concerning which there hath lately been such a buzz of talk in old England—at Cape⁵² Ann, let us say at venture, or Naumkeag, or Plymouth Colony?"
 
"Yea, yea! I am for Cape Ann," cried Joe Kirk, and his head rolled drunkenly above his great shoulders as he bolstered⁵³ his opinion with curses. "Did not my brother go thither⁵⁴, years and years agone, for the company of Dorchester merchants? Yea, and told rare tales of succulent great fish, which are a marvelous diet."
 
"Nay, thy brother was as great a sot as thou," a voice put in, and Joe rose in anger, but a general clamour drowned his retort and he lapsed⁵⁵ back into a sodden⁵⁶ lethargy.
 
"As for me," bellowed⁵⁷ Martin with bluster⁵⁸ and bravado⁵⁹, "I say go we to Plymouth and rap the horns of these schismatic Puritans. Tell me not but that they've mines of rich gold hid away. Did'st ever see a Roundhead knave⁶⁰ would brave the wild lions of America unless he thought there was gold in't?"
 
"Thou thyself art fool as well as knave," quoth the Old One. "Did'st thou not once cry the whole ship's company out of sleep to see a mermaid⁶¹ that would entice⁶² thee to thy peril⁶³? And when sober men had come on deck there was nought⁶⁴ there but a seal-fish at play. Lions forsooth! In Africa even I have heard a lion roar, but not in America. Much searching of tracts⁶⁵ hath stuffed thy head."
 
The drunken Joe roused sleepily up. "My brother saw a lion at Cape Ann plantation⁶⁶. My brother—" He drew a knife and wildly flourished it, but fell back in a stupor⁶⁷ before the laughter died.
 
Martin's bluster, as was its way when a man boldly confronted it, broke like a pricked⁶⁸ bubble, but his sullen⁶⁹ glare caught the Old One's eye.
 
Leaning over the table, the Old One said in a low, taunting⁷⁰ voice, "And did you never see a man dance on air? Ah, there's a sight to catch the breath in your throat and make an emptiness in a man's belly⁷¹!"
 
As often happens when there has been a great noise and a man speaks in a low voice, there was a quick lull⁷² and the words came out as clear as the ringing of a half crown. Phil Marsham, looking across the table into the Old One's cold blue eyes, which were fixed⁷³ on Martin, saw in them a flicker⁴⁰ of calculating amusement; then he saw that Martin was swallowing as if he had a fishbone in his throat.
 
In truth Martin wore the sickly smile that a man affects when he is cornered and wishes to appear braver than he is. He tried to speak but succeeded only in running his tongue over his lips, which needed it if they were as dry as they were blue.
 
"Come, come, we get no place!"
 
"Yacob! Yacob!" they cried at the sound of his voice, "Up on thy feet, Yacob!"
 
He rose and stood in his corner. His long hair was brushed back from a forehead so high that it reached to a great lump on the crown of his head. His brows were knit with intense earnestness. His big nose and curled lips and small chin were set in what might have seemed in another place and another time scholarly intentness. They did him honour by waiting in silence for his words.
 
"This bickering⁷⁴ and jangling brings us no place. Shall we go on or shall we go back? Shall we go north or shall we go south? Those are questions we must answer. Now I will tell you. If we go on, we shall find little fishing ships, with fish and no chinks, and we shall get tired of eating fish. If we go back in this fine ship that God in his goodness hath given us, we shall hang. We may yet go back to Mother Taylor, but we must go back in another ship. You know why. Now, brave hearts, if we go on to New England it shall profit us nothing. For the New-English are poor. They live in little huts. The savages⁷⁵ come down out of the woods and kill. Whether there be lions I do not know and I do not care; those savages I have seen and they are a very ugly sight. The English plantations⁷⁶ are cold in winter like the devil. They are poor. The English, they play with poverty.
 
"And if we go south? Ah-h-h! There are the Spains! They have sun and warmth and fruits and spices! They have mines of gold and silver and stones of great price. While the English play with poverty, the Spains play with empires! In New England we shall eat salt cods⁷⁷ or starve—which is much the same, for salt cods are a poor diet. But in the South we shall maybe catch a galleon⁷⁸ with a vast treasure." And with that, very serious and sure of his rightness, he sat down.
 
&quo............