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“Like it or not, none the Indians would have. We could see to that,” said Mills.

“What I say is this,” Smith continued. “Christian’s give ye yer choice with the rum, and ye was all for yer half-pint a day. With eight of us to drink it, there’s three and a half gallons a week. Afore the year’s out, where’ll we be for grog? And mind ye, there’s no Deptford stores here. When it’s gone, it’s gone, and we’ll do without for the rest of our lives.”

“We’ll no think of that, Alex,” said McCoy. “We’ll just relish what we’ve got and thank God it’s no less. Mon, but I’d like my dram this minute!”

“What would ye say, messmates, to better than a dram for the four of us within the half-hour?” Martin asked. McCoy turned his head quickly.

“What’s that ye say, Isaac? How should we hae it, and the rum stored in Christian’s tent?”

“Oh, it’s rum ye must have, is it?” Martin replied, with a sly smile. “Ye wouldn’t look at brandy, I doubt? And fine old brandy, too?”

“What are ye drivin’ at, man?” asked Mills, harshly. “Can’t ye speak out plain? There’s no brandy in the stores.”