“Yes, sir? What do you mean to do now?”
“I’ll tell you. It seems to me madness, after this lesson in the American’s intentions, to divide my little crew. I want them altogether, and we’re weak enough then.”
“Don’t say you mean to give up the prize, sir,” cried Tom Fillot, appealingly.
“Not while I can lift a hand, Tom. We’ll try another plan. I’ll get the skipper on board the other schooner. Then we’ll have the crew down in our forecastle.”
“And leave me to navigate this one, sir? No, that won’t do, sir. What isn’t safe for me, isn’t safe for you.”
“No, I felt that. My plan’s a different one. We’ll have a hawser from our schooner to this one, after you’ve made all snug aloft, and tow her while the weather keeps fair.”
“Well, sir, I don’t see why not,” said Tom, thoughtfully.
“We can leave the blacks on board; and then we shall have plenty of force to meet the Yankees if they try to master us again.”
“That’s right, sir; and as long as the weather holds good, we may do, though I think we shall have our hands full. But look here, sir; why not—”
“Why not what?”