“You think what he told us was a made-up yarn then?” I asked my coxswain.
“Yes, sir, I do, and for this here reason. Do you suppose as these bloomin’ pirates would go and run their heads into a noose just because a couple of their pals are in chokey? Why, they’d bring a hornets’ nest about their ears in the shake of a pig’s whisker if they tried on any such little game! Mighty foolish they’d look, I take it, strung up in a row like a lot of Yarmouth herrin’s!”
Mr. Triggs looked thoughtful and rather troubled. He was not a man of much imagination, and was fairly puzzled by the perplexities of the situation.
“How is your head, my boy?” he asked, turning abruptly to me.
“Much better, thank you, Mr. Triggs. There is still a swelling like a walnut, but it doesn’t hurt me an atom.”
“Good. How’s your back, Ned?”
“Pretty tol-lollish, sir, thank’ee.”
“These are queer diggings the pirates have,” said I; “and I expect they’ve more caves even than these two. They couldn’t stow away very much loot here.”
“’Tis a place that can be very easily defended from an assault,” remarked Ned. “I should say there was no path leading to the terrace except the one we arrived by, and the beggars could sweep that in a murderous manner with their two cannon.”
“True enough, true enough,” assented the gunner; “as far as I could see ’twas all precipices below and aloft, and ’twould be something of the nature of a forlorn hope to try to rush it.”