“God save the King!” said my father, enthusiastically.
“Then you will all fight in defence of your hearths and homes?”
A tremendous cheer was the answer.
“Well, then,” said the General, “we must be prepared. I look upon it all as an empty, insolent piece of bombast; but whatever it is, we must not be taken unawares. Help shall be at once asked from England, and meantime we must do all we can to place ourselves in a state of defence.”
“Well, George,” said my father, as we walked back home, seeing the sails of the Spaniard set, and that she was gliding slowly down the river, “what have you to say to all this?”
“I should like to know whether the Spaniards will come back.”
“Ah, that remains to be proved, my boy. We shall see.”
“Not they,” said Morgan, when I told him, and he was listening eagerly to my account of what had taken place. “If we were Indians perhaps they would; but we’re Englishmen and Welshmen, look you. No, my lad, we’re more likely to see those Indians. Depend upon it, all that Spaniel said was a bit of bounce.”