“Oh, but surely, sir,” cried Fitz, “the enemy would not—”
“Those worthy of the name of enemy, my boy, certainly would not; but those fighting against us are most of them the bloodthirsty scum of a half-savage tropical city, let loose for a riot of murder, plunder, and destruction. Why, my dear boy, the moment you and Poole got outside the shelter of these walls, a hundred rifles would be aimed at you, with their owners burning to take revenge for the little defeat they have just now suffered.”
“Are you sure you are right, Captain Reed?”
“Quite, my lad; as sure as I am that it is not all ill that we have done this morning, for San Cristobal and Velova will both be the better for the absence of some of those who are lying dead out there.”
He stood gazing out between two boards for some few minutes, before turning back, and glancing round the room he said a few words to the English defenders.
“Splendid, my lads,” he said. “Nothing could have been cooler and better. We want no hurry at a time like this.”
“Think they’ll come again, father?” asked Poole.
“Sure to, my lad, and we shall drive them back again. After that, this Don Villarayo will have his work cut out to get them to come up again, and I don’t believe he will succeed.”
“Will they retreat then, sir?” asked Fitz.
The skipper smiled.