me none, till ye got ter talkin' 'bout sum feller called Sanchez. Then
I sorter got a bit interested. I know'd thet cuss onct," and he spat,
as though to thus better express his feelings. "The damned ornary
pirate."

I laughed, my whole mental mood changed by this remark.

"It is not very likely we have the same party in mind, Haley. You see
Sanchez is a decidedly common name among Spaniards. I've known two 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