"Bronson was hurt by a flying bottle," he explained. "Will you look after him? I've got to round up the boys and see what's doing."
"You're hurt yourself," Dickie observed as the rays of the cabin lamp fell upon Gregory's face.
"Just a scratch," he said quickly. "If you'll look out for Bronson I'll be off."
Dickie Lang whirled about. "Look out for this man, Jack. See you later, Jones. I'm going with Mr. Gregory."
Reluctantly Gregory consented to allow the girl to accompany him in the Richard. An instant later they were on their way to round up the fleet.
Injuries were few among the crews of the defending vessels. Bruises and cuts summed up the physical damage done by Mascola's men. One of the boats was leaking, but Sorenson was holding the water easily with the pumps. The Falcon's shaft was sprung but the propeller was still turning. To a man, the various
captains reported that their men had obeyed instructions to the letter. No acts of violence had as yet been committed by any of the American crews. The ex-sailors, though chafing at their inaction, had assumed the defensive throughout.
The next thing was to arrange to oppose Mascola's next move.
"Whatever he does, he's got to do mighty quick," observed Dickie as the Richard nosed her way among the albacore fishermen. "It's roughing up in the last five minutes and the glass is falling all the time."
"There's only one thing he can do, as near as I can figure," Gregory answered. "And that's to come down the harbor channel and hit us from the stern. If he does that," he added quickly, "we'll have to be careful not to block the sea-way leading into the harbor. My idea is to move farther up. Then if the blow does come, we can go out with the wind and sea through the north channel."