As I went up to him he stared at me curiously, and I looked at him, each of course thinking of our encounter, and it appeared to me as if it was something that had occurred a long time ago, and that I ought not to refer to such a horror—at least not till some time in the future, when we could speak of it calmly, as of some adventure of the past.
The change in his aspect was striking as I spoke, his face lighting up; and he looked like the Morgan of old, as I said, quietly—
“What are the Spaniards doing?”
“Smoking, some of ’em, Master George,” he said, eagerly. “And some of ’em’s eating and drinking; and, look you, the big Dons are all together yonder having a sort of confab. Think it’ll come to a fight with them, sir?”
“I don’t know. But hasn’t any one been up to the gate or brought a message?”
“No, sir, and they don’t seem to be in any hurry. Look!”
He made way for me to look over the gate at the little force, which lay about half-way between us and their boats at the river-side, while about a couple of hundred yards away lay their ship, with the Spanish flag blown well out by the breeze.
The men were standing or lying down, and, as far as I could see, no one had been hurt in their encounter; in fact it had been confined to firing upon the retreating savages. They were taking matters very coolly, all but their leaders, who were evidently holding a council before deciding on their next step.
“Strikes me, Master George,” said Morgan, “that they’re thinking that winning one little battle’s enough work for the day, and I shouldn’t be much surprised if they went back on board. They don’t want to fight us, only to frighten us away.”
“Think so?” I said. “They attacked the Indians very bravely.”