With a last word of advice to the gloomy and silent officers of the sloop, Webster stepped overboard, and very soon the Swift went on her way.
Chapter Eleven.
A Painful Scene.
The stricken sloop lay like a log on the ocean as the Swift stretched along into the Atlantic. In less than half an hour she had been struck down, maimed, and humbled by an enemy which she had treated with contempt.
“Why didn’t you sink her?” said Commins softly, coming to the side of Captain Pardoe, who stood with a dull flush in his face, fixedly regarding the labouring sloop. “You are fighting for the National Government. Why didn’t you sink her?”
Pardoe turned and regarded the man at his side under his brows for a moment. “What a devil you are, Commins!”
“Am I really?” remarked Commins imperturbably; “but, however flattering to my sagacity, that is scarcely an answer to my question. You have committed a blunder, Pardoe, and if the authorities at Rio were informed of it they might—I’m not saying they would, mind you—but they might court-martial you.”
“Court-martial me for smashing an enemy’s ship? You’re a fool, Commins!”