If it should change its title ...

perhaps.

But while it is called _Mare Nostrum_,--how _could_ anything happen to it ?..." Smiling before this faith, Ferragut brought forth his last argument.
The entire crew was going to be made up of Frenchmen; how could they ever understand each other if he were ignorant of their language ?...
"I know it all," affirmed the old man superbly.
He had made himself understood with men in all the different ports of the world.

He was counting on something more than mere language,--on his eyes, his hands, the expressive cunning of an exuberant and gesticulating meridional.
"I am just like _San Vicente Ferrer_," he added with pride.
His saint had spoken only the Valencian dialect, and yet had traveled throughout half Europe preaching to throngs of different tongues, making them weep with mystic emotion and repent of their sins.
While Ferragut retained the command, he was going to stay.

If he didn't want him for a cook, he would be the cabin boy, washing up the pots and pans.