“Why, as we’ve got possession, Ned, we had better put a man at the helm—for the speronare is having it all her own way.”
“Very true,” replied Gascoigne; “and as I can steer better than you, I suppose it must be me.”
Gascoigne went to the helm, brought the boat up to the wind, and then they resumed their conversation.
“That rascal of a boy gave me a devil of a lick on the shoulder; I don’t know whether he has hurt me—at all events it’s my left shoulder, so I can steer just as well. I wonder whether the fellows are dead.”
“The padrone is, at all events,” replied Jack. “It was as much as I could do to get my legs from under him—but we’ll wait till daylight before we see to that—in the meantime, I’ll load the pistols again.”
“The day is breaking now—it will be light in half an hour or less. What a devil of a spree, Jack!”
“Yes, but how can one help it? We ran away because two men are wounded—and now we are obliged to kill four in self-defence.”
“Yes, but that is not the end of it; when we get to Sicily what are we to do? we shall be imprisoned by the authorities—perhaps hung.”
“We’ll argue that point with them,” replied Jack.
“We had better argue the point between ourselves, Jack, and see what will be the best plan to get out of our scrape.”