Chapter Twenty One.
The Black Schooner.
Commodore Junk’s schooner, with its enormous spars and sails, had been lying-to off the harbour of Saint Geronimo one afternoon, where she had taken in a good store of fresh fruit for her crew, while waiting the return of one of her officers who had been overland to Belize to pick up information that might be useful to the captain.
Bart Wrigley was silent that calm, still evening for a long time after the captain had spoken, and then—
“It’s a mistake, my dear lad,” he said angrily. “You do as you like, and I’ll follow you through with it, and so will the men; but I say it’s a mistake.”
“And why!” asked the captain, coldly. “Are you afraid to meet the ship!”
“Nay, I don’t know as I’m afraid,” said Bart; “but where’s the good? She’s twice stronger than we, and we shall get nothing but hard knocks.”
“Do you think I should be so mad as to attack such a ship as that on equal terms?”