“Of course I can steer. I don’t give up to any fellow in handling a boat,” growled Bill.
Raimundo gave him the tiller; but he watched him for a time, to see that he made good his word. The bully did very well, and kept the felucca parallel with the shore, as she had been all the afternoon.
“There is a mole makes out from the shore,” continued the active skipper to Bark, who had gone forward of the foremast to do the duty assigned to him.
“Ay, ay! I can see it,” replied Bark.
“I think we need not quarrel, Filipe,” said Raimundo, bending over the prisoner, and unloosing the rope that bound his hands to the mast; but they were still tied behind him. “We are almost into Tarragona, and what we do must be done quickly.”
“Don’t harm Juan,” pleaded Filipe.
“That will depend on yourself, whether we do or not,” replied Raimundo, as fiercely as he could speak. “We are not to be trifled with; and Americans carry pistols sometimes.”
“I will do what you wish,” answered Filipe.
“I will give you what I agreed, and two hundred reales besides, if you will keep still about our being deserters; and that is all the money we have.”
“Gracias! I will do it!” exclaimed the boatman. “Release me, and I will land you outside of the mole, and not go near the town to speak to any person.”