“That’s as true as gospel,” answered the seaman with a grin; “but I tell you what, you might sit there and whittle and whittle till the crack o’ doom, but you wouldn’t cut no sticks while them young cables is riveted to your blessed feet. That’s a conundrum if ever there was one.”
“Ah, I keep a brighter look-out ahead than you do, Ned. I should like to have a knife handy for operations ashore a little later on.”
My coxswain stared.
“How do you know they’re going to put us ashore?” he asked. “They may keep at sea for a long time to come.”
“Has it ever occurred to you, Mr. Triggs, that we might be marooned?” I put in anxiously.
“Pooh!” answered the gunner, “maroon your grandmother. What possible benefit would it be to them to put us ashore on a desert island, I should like to know?”
“Some spite against our government, or naval authorities,” I answered.
“Ah, there’s something more than mere spite at the bottom of this business, my lad, don’t you make any mistake. Now, shall I tell you what I think these kidnapping fellows are?”
“Fire away!” I said laconically.
“Well, I think they’re out-and-out pirates—that’s what I think they are,” said the gunner emphatically; “and I’m under the impression that their headquarters are on some almost unknown island a considerable distance from Cuba, and that they prey upon the shipping that passes to and fro in these seas. I also think that they are mixed up in the smuggling business, and that, owing to the laxity of the Spanish navy, they have managed to form a depôt in those caves which we—”