“Think they’d have used them if they had got the day?”
“Think they’d have used them!” cried Poole scornfully. “Why, if they had been pure Spaniards I believe they would in the excitement; but fellows like those, nearly all of Indian blood, if they had got the upper hand, wounded or sound I don’t believe they’d have left a man alive.”
“I suppose not,” said Fitz; “but it is very horrid, all the same. Where’s your father? Oughtn’t we to go and see to the wounded men?”
“We shall have to leave that to the enemy,” replied Poole. “If we went out they’d begin firing from under cover. But here, I say—Here, you Chips, go and ask my governor whether we ought to do anything about those wounded men?”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the carpenter; “but I know what he’ll say.”
“What?” said Fitz sharply.
“Same as Mr Poole did, sir, for sartin,” and the man trotted away.
“You sent him off because you wanted to speak to me. What is it? Is there fresh danger?”
“Oh no; they’ll think twice before they come again. But, I say, what have you been about?”
“Been—about? What do you mean?”