They were all lying in an indiscriminate heap near the after bulkhead.
There was a chorus of wild gurgling behind the gags, and Dick and Clackett set to work and laid the prisoners around the room in something like order. The overturned cots were placed upright, and Pedro was laid on one, and the unknown member of Fingal’s gang was placed on the other. Fingal and the general were left lying on the hard floor.
“The general,” remarked Clackett, poking him in the ribs with the toe of his boot, “was goin’ to take care o’ us in a summary fashion. He couldn’t hardly wait till nightfall, the general couldn’t. Ain’t he a nice-lookin’ specimen, Dick?”
“He’s the worst-looking swab I ever saw!” averred Dick. “He was all sword and spurs, and he didn’t know how to use ’em. That’s the reason he got captured. I guess he’ll be hung, fair enough. He ought to be hung, anyhow, and he would have been if he had fallen into the hands of General Mendez. We ought to have put him ashore to take the place of Gaines. We robbed the soldiers of one victim, and we should have given them another.”
“I tell ye what we ought to have done,” averred Clackett. “We ought to have laid all these here prisoners out on the deck when we was passing that fort.”
“You’re right,” cried Dick. “That was a bright idea. But,” and Dick’s face fell, “like a good many bright ideas it came too late.”
“With them fellers on the deck,” said Clackett, waxing eloquent over his afterthought, “I’ll bet somethin’ handsome we could have run past that fort and never been fired at once.”
“Like enough. But we’re past the fort, and we’re right side up with care, and we’ve got Bob Steele to thank for it all. Let’s go back and see how near it is to supper time.”