"Will you spend your days moping and swilling 'cause a white-faced ninny in Port Royal'll have none o' ye?
'Sblood and 'ounds! If ye wants the wench, why the plague doesn't ye go and fetch her ?" The blue eyes glared at him from under the jet-black eyebrows, and something of their old fire began to kindle in them.

But Wolverstone went on heedlessly.
"I'll be nice wi' a wench as long as niceness be the key to her favour.
But sink me now if I'd rot myself in rum on account of anything that wears a petticoat.

That's not the Old Wolf's way.

If there's no other expedition'll tempt you, why not Port Royal?
What a plague do it matter if it is an English settlement?
It's commanded by Colonel Bishop, and there's no lack of rascals in your company'd follow you to hell if it meant getting Colonel Bishop by the throat.

It could be done, I tell you.