“Why?”
“Sure, an’ there’s no arrangement for getting Black Mazzard to come that time to count over the powdher-barrels.”
“What! and blow the scoundrel up!”
“Sure, sor, and it would be a kindness to him. He’s the wickedest divil that ever breathed, and he gets worse ivery day, so wouldn’t it be a kindness to try and send him to heaven before he gets too bad to go! But whist! I’ve stopped too long, sor. Ye understand?”
“Dinny, get me away from here, and you’re a made man!”
“Faix, I dunno, sor. Mebbe there’ll be one lot’ll want to shoot me for a desarter—though I desarted by force—and another lot’ll want to hang me for a pirate. I don’t fale at all safe; but I know I shall be tuk and done for some day if I shtop, and as the darlin’ says she’ll niver make a mistake the right way wid her lips till I’ve taken her from Black Mazzard, why, I’ll do the thrick.”
More days passed, and every stroll outside his prison had to be taken by Humphrey with Bart as close to him as his shadow.
Dinny kept away again, and the plan to escape might as well have never been uttered.
Bart always went well-armed with his prisoner, and seemed unusually suspicious, as if fearing an attempt at escape.
Dinny’s little widow came no more, and the hours grew so irksome with the confinement consequent upon the captains absence that Humphrey longed for his return.