“Well,” said the skipper dryly, “we English have a habit of hitting back if we are tackled, and if anybody interferes with us in what we have to do, I dare say we shall give a pretty good account of ourselves. But at the present moment it seems to me that it’s my duty to get back to my ship and wait until you show me where I can land my cargo.”
“Ah!” said the Don, and as he spoke Fitz had his first announcement that day was near at hand, for he began to dimly see the eager, animated countenance of the Spaniard, and to make out the figures of his well-armed followers clustering round.
“Well, sir, what is to be done?”
“One moment; let me think. It will be safest, perhaps, for you to return to the ship and wait.”
“Where?” said the skipper. “That gunboat is hanging about the coast, waiting to capture us if she can.”
“Yes, I know; I know. And ashore Villarayo’s men are swarming. They have hunted us through the pass all night, and hundreds of them are coming along the coast to cut us off from reaching boats and escaping out to sea.”
“Then it’s time we were off,” said the skipper sharply.
“Too late,” replied the Don.
“But my schooner?”
“Will they capture that?” cried the Don.