But in spite of this the party worked well, and the sailor having surrendered, contented himself, as soon as he was aboard, by lying down upon the deck and beginning to chew.
The grapnel was hauled in, the jib hoisted, and Jack stationed at the tiller; but the sail slowly flapped to and fro, refusing to fill, and the only way on the cutter was that given by the falling tide.
“She’ll be aboard of us, Bart, long before we get out of the bay,” said Abel, with a groan of despair.
“Niver say die,” cried Dinny, who had just given a turn to the painter which held the cutter’s boat.
“Are there any arms aboard?” growled Bart. “Cuss it! look there!”
This last was consequent upon a shot ploughing a little channel along his neck. “D’yer hear what I say—you?” he said again to their prisoner. “Are there any arms aboard?”
“Yes, in the cabin—muskets,” said the sailor; “but you leave ’em alone, my lad. This here as you’ve done’s piracy, and if you kill anybody it’s murder.”
“Then let ’em keep off,” said Bart, with a fierce growl as he followed Abel into the cabin, both reappearing again directly with muskets and ammunition.
“I tell you it’s piracy,” said the sailor from where he lay. “Isn’t it, Dennis Kelly?”
“Faix, I s’pose it is,” said Dinny, smiling. “There’s so much in a name.”