“Because then I would wade out to that wreck, clap my shoulder to her bow, shove her into deep water, carry you, and Alice, and Poopy aboard, haul out the main-mast by the roots, make an oar of it, and scull out to sea, havin’ previously fired off the biggest gun aboard of her, to let the pirates know what I was doing.”
Corrie’s spirit was in a tumultuous and very rebellious state. He was half inclined to indulge in hysterical weeping, and more than half disposed to give way to a burst of savage glee. He spoke with the mantling blood blazing in his fat cheeks, and his two eyes glittering like those of a basilisk. Montague could not repress a smile and a look of admiration as he said to our little hero—
“Why, Corrie, if you were a giant it would be much easier to go to the other side of the island, wring off the heads of all the pirates, and, carrying me on your shoulders, and Alice and Poopy in your coat-pockets, get safely aboard of the Foam, and ho! for Sandy Cove.”
“So it would,” said Corrie, gravely. “I did not think of that, and it would be a far pleasanter way than the other.”
“Ah! Corrie, I fear that you are a very bloodthirsty fellow.”
“Of course I am when I’ve pirates to deal with. I would kill them every man, without a thought.”
“No you wouldn’t, my boy. You couldn’t do it in cold blood, even although they are bad men.”
“I don’t know that,” said Corrie, dubiously. “I would do it without more feeling than I would have in killing a cat.”
“Did you ever kill a cat?” asked Montague.
“Never,” answered Corrie.