"We can escape now, Jones," said the Skipper. "At least the enemy are dying or running away, and our captors seem to have followed suit. Let us start at once."
"We can't leave this poor man, Uncle," said Cynthia, pointing to the Bo's'n. Of course, we could not leave him! The dear girl was, as ever, right.
I saw the disappointment of the Skipper's face.
"Staying may imperil all our lives," he said; "but I suppose it's human to stay."
"I think he'll be able to walk after a night's rest," said Cynthia.
"It's getting late now to make a start," said I. "The early morning will be better."
"I shall have to start quite early," said Cynthia. "I want to stop at the beach and get that palm for Aunt Mary 'Zekel."
We were almost alone on the esplanade. The soldiers had disappeared with their officers into the interior of the building. They seemed to have forgotten us, and we were left free to follow our own devices.
It seemed so strange to be free once again, for habits are quickly formed, and not so quickly broken. I could not get accustomed to the fact that I was free as God's air, and that there was none to molest or to make me afraid.
Cynthia had not mentioned William Brown to me now for some time, and I felt quite sure that whether he was glued to the dock in anticipation of her coming, or whether he had given up all hope, that the latter course would be wisest and best for William himself.