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you alone, Captain Dawes, sir,” and he tugged the pirate into the tavern door. “About your next trip—” he began.

“My next trip and hell!” the captain roared. “I’ve just taken a good prize, haven’t I? I’ve got money, haven’t I? Then what is this you are squalling about a next trip? Wait till the prize is spent and the wounds healed. Wait till I’ve drained Port Royal dry of wine, and then come talking about the next trip.” He rushed back into the street crowd. “Boys!” he yelled. “Boys, you have not drunk my health for hours. Come, shout together now, and then we will sing!”

Henry walked onward in despair. In the harbor a number of ships were lying at anchor. He approached a sailor sitting in the sand.

“That one’s fast,” he said, to open the acquaintance.

“Aye, good enough.”

“Are there any buccaneers of note in this town?” Henry asked.

“None but that Dawes, and he’s only a roaring mouse. He takes a little boat loaded with supplies for Campeche, and you’d think it was Panama he brought home for the noise he makes about it.”

“But are there none others?”

“Well, there’s one they call Grippo, but he takes no prizes unless they go unarmed. Afraid of his shadow, Grippo. Yes, he’s in port with no prize, and drinking black rum on tick, I guess.”

“Which is his ship?” Henry asked.

“Why, there she is. They call her Ganymede.