“Oars! push off!” I said shortly, as half-a-dozen stones came rattling into the boat; and as we began to move away from the wharf quite a burst of triumphant yells accompanied a shower of stones and refuse.
“That’s their way o’ showing how werry much obliged they are to us for sinking the pirates,” growled Tom Jecks. “Oh, don’t I wish we had orders to bombard this blessed town! Go it! That didn’t hit you, did it, sir?”
“No, it only brushed my cap,” I said, as the stones began to come more thickly, and the shouting told of the keen delight the mob enjoyed in making the English retreat. “Pull away, my lads, and throw the grapnel over as soon as we are out of reach.”
“But we don’t want to pull away, sir. They thinks we’re fear’d on ’em. There’s about a hundred on ’em—dirty yaller-faced beggars, and there’s four o’ us, without counting you. Just you give the word, sir, and we’ll row back in spite o’ their stones, and make the whole gang on ’em run. Eh, mates?”
“Ay, ay!” said the others, lying on their oars.
“Pull!” I cried sharply, and they began rowing again; for though I should have liked to give the word, I knew that it would not only have been madness, but disobedience of orders. My duty was to take care of the boat, and this I was doing by having it rowed out beyond stone-throwing reach, with the Union Jack waving astern; and as soon as the stones fell short, and only splashed the water yards away, I had the grapnel dropped overboard, and we swung to it, waiting for the captain’s return.
The men sat chewing their tobacco, lolling in the sun, and I lay back watching the crowd at the edge of the water, wondering how long the captain and his escort would be, and whether the prisoners would be given up.
“Hope none o’ them pigtailed varmint won’t shy mud at the skipper,” said one of the men, yawning.
“I hope they will,” said Tom Jecks.
“Why, mate?”