"Fetch up the wench, boy," growled Bones, "or I'll give ye a taste o' Murray's triangles."
"Fetch her up!" howled the crew in rabid chorus. "Let's ha' a look at the wench!"
Darby started toward us with the tears running down his cheeks. We could see him picking his way slowly through the crowd. A man kicked him as we watched. Poor Darby! He had been Flint's favorite, and there are always men in any crew to hate the captain's pet.
I looked at Peter, and he met my gaze with dumb foreboding.
"We might take to the water," I said.
Moira spoke behind us.
"You will do no such thing," she answered. "Nor will I. We are not yet in such evil case."
"You don't know——"
"They would surely overtake us," she argued. "No, no, Bob; we must wait and pick a better time if we can."
"Ja," approved Peter. "Dot's right. I t'ink——"