“Is that a nice place?”
“Middling. I like Jamaica better.”
“And shall we go there?”
“Wait, and you’ll see, like the rest of us.”
“But do you think we shall have to fight?”
“If we meet any of the enemy’s ships, we shall have to fight or run away.”
“We shall never run away,” said Syd, hotly. “My father would never do that.”
Almost as he spoke, the man at the mast-head shouted “Sail ho!” and there was a commotion aboard. Glasses were levelled, and before long a second ship was made out; and before long two more appeared, and by the cut of the sails it was decided that it was a little squadron of the French.
Syd, to whom all this was wonderfully fresh, was eagerly scanning the distant sails, which showed up clearly now in the bright sunshine, when a voice behind him said—
“Of course. How cowardly!”