“Devil a bit,” and Crawford laughed. “Nor, as I gathered from your speech—though I’ve forgotten the Gaelic in large part—are you. I’ve a pirate craft hidden up the coast. Will you and these men join me, Phelim?”
“Ay, to hell and back!” said Sir Phelim promptly. “I’ll answer for them. But I’m a broken man——”
“Don’t be a fool,” snapped Crawford. “Listen, now! We’ve small time for talk, since the afternoon is wasting. Is Iberville himself down yonder?”
“Ay, and forty devils of Canadians.”
“They are burning the place—there’s smoke from another house.” Crawford’s gaze swept the little harbour. “D’ye know when they are leaving?”
“Not until morning.”
“Excellent! I need men, Phelim. Five of you here—can we get any more near by?”
Sir Phelim questioned his four. These, all of them Sea Burkes out of Galway and veterans of the Irish wars who had been taken prisoner and shipped to Newfoundland as slaves, were eager enough to follow Crawford, the more as he was an old friend and companion in arms of Sir Phelim, whom they loved. They said that a number of Irish were roving the woods, and several were thought to be at Old Perlican, to which place a detachment of Canadians had departed, with intent to give it a like fate with that of Bay de Verde.
Crawford whistled, and in came Bose from his concealment among the trees.
“Here are five of our fresh men, Bose, and down yonder the ship awaiting us. Go back to where the men are camped, set out a guard or two against roving Canadians, and after dark bring them on to this spot. Off with you! Now, Phelim, would it be possible for two of your men to cover the six miles to Old Perlican, rouse up any of their comrades whom they may find, and be back here before dawn?”