“And if he steers toward that battered iron scow, we can shoot him from the wharf.”
“As we will shoot all Yankees who dare to come here after this!” shouted another.
Hal faced them, head erect and shoulders thrown back.
He fully expected to be thrown into the muddy water, but he did not propose to flinch.
For a moment the crowd hesitated, ready to follow any caprice, but waiting for a leader.
After waiting a moment for the attack, Hal felt a sudden thrill of misgiving.
His hand had touched, accidentally, on something under his coat.
That recalled him to his duty, to the reason for his being in Havana, to the cause of his being left behind.
Hidden away in his clothing was a bag. It contained two thousand dollars, the property of another, confided to his care.
“This mob is made up of worthless fellows,” muttered the boy. “They don’t know any better than to do as they are doing. They are so ignorant that not one in a dozen of them would know his own name in print. They shall not make me forget my duty. Since there is no American ship here, I will try to find an English one.”