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>"Who told thee that?" cried The Black Swordsman; then pausing, "Aye, Puck; aye, my hearties all round; it was Moby Griffith that dismasted me; Moby Griffith that brought me to this dead stump I stand on now. Aye, aye," he shouted with a terrific, loud, animal sob, like that of a heart-stricken moose; "Aye, aye! it was that accursed white hawk that razeed me; made a poor pegging lubber of me for ever and a day!" Then tossing both arms, with measureless imprecations he shouted out: "Aye, aye! and I’ll chase him round Good Ys, and round the Horn, and round the Skellig Maelstrom, and round perdition’s flames before I give him up. And this is what ye have shipped for, men! to chase that white hawk on both sides of land, and over all sides of earth, till he spouts black blood and rolls wing out. What say ye, men, will ye splice hands on it, now? I think ye do look brave."
