"This time we're nabbed for keeps unless you all do as I bid you," he said. "When the fog lifts, the cruiser will see us. There's only one thing for it. Somewhere, close in, is a steamer. She's a tramp, by the wheeze of 'er horn. We've got to board 'er an' sink the launch. If she's British, or American, O.K., as 'er people will stand by us. If she's a Dago, we've got to collar 'er, run every whelp into the forehold, an' answer the cruiser's signals ourselves. That's the sittiwation, accordin' to my reckonin'. Now, 'oo's for it?"
"Butt right in, skipper," said a gentleman who claimed Providence, Rhode Island, as the place of his nativity.
Hozier, who had contrived to draw near Iris while Coke was speaking, breathed softly, so that none other could hear:
"This is rank piracy. But what else can we do?"
"Is it wrong?" she asked.
"Well—no, provided we kill no one. We are justified in saving our own lives, and the average German or Italian shipmaster would hand us over to the Brazilians without scruple."
Iris was far from Bootle and its moralities.
"I don't care what happens so long as you are not hurt," she whispered.
"Mr. Hozier," said Coke thickly.
"Yes, sir."