"My heart! But what will be the use? Say we beat them off, 'twill be like as if we tried to stem the waves. With a fair breeze the mainland is but a day's sail, and there the Spaniards swarm like cockroaches in a hold. I tell 'ee, lad, whoever ye be, we be dead men!"
"I've been nearer death," said Dennis quietly. "Look! There is my hut. I was cast up on this shore from a wreck: I have been here several weeks, months—I know not: it has pleased God to keep me alive here, alone on this island, and I believe there is hope for us all."
"Amen! ... My heart! There's a sheer hulk in the pool yonder."
"Ay, all that's left of the Maid Marian. But I will tell you my story anon. Come away into the hut, and let us talk of what we can do to save ourselves from the Spaniards."
As they entered the hut, the Englishman drew back with a startled cry. Perched on a cask sat Mirandola. He chattered angrily at the sight of a stranger.
"My one friend on the island, and a faithful comrade," said Dennis. "A gentle soul; he will do you no harm."
"A friend, say you? 'Tis against nature to be friends with a spider-monkey. And I be fair mazed; it do seem all a dream, only in the offing yonder there be a real ship, and, say what 'ee will, I be afeard."
"We'll first file off these clogging hobbles. And what say you to a mug of beer? It has come far; I have not broached the cask, and maybe 'tis still drinkable."
"My heart! I never thought to taste beer or cider again. 'Twill comfort my nattlens, sure, and I was once a good man at a tankard."
The fetters were soon struck off; a mug of beer was drawn, and drained at a gulp; but Turnpenny was still ill at ease. He went to the entrance of the hut and looked nervously up and down the gully, listening with head cocked aside. Dennis could not guess at the terrible past which had made this stout English mariner as timid as a child.