"What shall we do with the prisoners?"
"Let them go where they please," answered Mr. O'Brien. "They can't hinder us."
"Now mark my words, sonny," said the man who had been talking to him a few moments before. "I haven't got anything against you, but I really wish you would not go off with that sloop. You are going to be killed, the last one of you."
"We will not be the first men who have fallen before British bullets," said Enoch, shouldering his gun and starting for the sloop. "Look at the ones the redcoats killed at Lexington. We are going to have revenge for that."
When Enoch got aboard the sloop he found O'Brien at the wheel and Zeke was ordering the lines hauled in. After that the mainsail and jib were hoisted—that was the only two sails she had—a shove was given at the bow while the stern-line held on, and as soon as the wind took the canvas she moved silently away from the wharf. She seemed to know that she was going on a dangerous mission, for not even her blocks creaked as the sailors pulled at the ropes.
"Well, Enoch, you are here, are you not?" exclaimed a voice at his elbow. "You have got your gun all handy, too."
"Yes, but where is yours, Zeke?" said the boy. "You haven't got anything."
"Yes, I have," said the man, pulling out his club from behind him. "If ever this falls on a Tory's head it is my opinion that he will see stars."
By this time the sloop was squared around with her bow pointed toward the sea and, contrary to the expectation of her company, she took a bone in her teeth and settled down to an exhibition of speed that surprised everybody. They were sure of one thing: The schooner must go faster than they had ever seen her go before in order to escape.
"But perhaps she won't depend on her speed," said Enoch, when somebody made use of this remark close at his elbow. "Perhaps she will stay and fight it out."