“Well,” cried Dinny, “how can I tell ye till I know? Why, it’s my belief, Dick, me lad, that they don’t know themselves.”
“Where do you mean to go, Abel?” said Jack at last.
“Go, my lass—my lad!” he said, correcting himself. “Anywhere. We can’t touch port, but we’ve got a tidy little vessel, not too big to manage, and we must sail somewhere to be safe.”
“Well, I don’t care,” came from forward, as Dick raised his voice in stubborn reiteration with Dinny. “I says it’s piracy, and if they’re ketched, they’ll all be hanged.”
A dead silence fell upon the little group, and at last it was Bart who spoke, as if to himself.
“If you helps yourself to a bit o’ anything that comes ashore, they says it’s wrecking; and if you want a drop o’ brandy or a bit o’ lace from a furrin boat, it’s smuggling; and now, if a man wants to get away, and fights for his liberty, he’s a pirate.”
“For seizing a vessel, Bart,” said Jack.
“Yes, lad, I know. Well, they may call me what they like. Here we are, and we’ve got to live.”
“Where d’ye think they’ll sail?” said Dick again, raising his voice, but in ignorance that the words could reach the group by the tiller.
“Where shall we sail?” said Jack, who was steering. “I don’t know, for all before us seems black; but I’ve saved my brother and his true old friend, so let fate guide us: the world is very wide.”