“Muster the women at once,” ordered the captain, “we have no time to lose, for that fellow will soon be firing broad-sides, and his shot now range half a mile beyond us.”
“You'll no more move the widow and her maid, than you'll move the island,” answered Jack, laconically.
“Why should I not move them? Do they wish to stay here and starve?”
“It's little that they think of that. The sloop-of-war no sooner begun to fire than down went Mrs. Budd on the canvas floor of the tent, and set up just such a screaming as you may remember she tried her hand at the night the revenue craft fired into us. Biddy lay down alongside of her mistress, and at every gun, they just scream as loud as they can, as if they fancied they might frighten off Uncle Sam's men from their duty.”
“Duty!—You little scamp, do you call tormenting honest traders in this fashion the duty of any man?”
“Well, captain, I'm no ways partic'lar about a word or two. Their 'ways,' if you like that better than duty, sir.”
“Where's Rose? Is she down too, screaming and squalling?”
“No, Captain Spike, no. Miss Rose is endeavouring, like a handsome young Christian lady as she is, to pacify and mollify her aunt and Biddy; and right down sensible talk does she give them.”
“Then she at least can go aboard the brig,” exclaimed Spike, with a sudden animation, and an expression of countenance that Jack did not at all like.
“I ray-y-ther think she'll wish to hold on to the old lady,” observed the steward's-mate, a little emphatically.