"Aye, aye!" says Godby, tightening the belt where swung his great cutlass and, shouldering his musket, set off after the three.
"So there goeth our fortune aboard, comrade."
"And in desperate risky fashion, Adam."
"In safe, straightforward fashion rather, and in broad daylight, the which is surer than stealing it aboard in the dark."
"But should these rogues guess what they carry—"
"They won't, Martin, and if they should they have but their knives 'gainst Godby's musket and pistols."
"Ha—murder, Adam?"
"Would you call this murder, comrade?"
"What other? I wonder what manner of man you'll be, away there in England?"
"A worthy, right worshipful justice o' the peace, Martin, if Providence seeth fit, in laced coat and great peruke, to see that my tenants' cottages be sound and wholesome, to pat the touzled heads o' the children, bless 'em! And to have word with every soul i' the village. To snooze i' my great pew o' Sundays and, dying at last, snug abed, to leave behind me a kindly memory. And what for you, Martin? What see you in the ship yonder?"