CHAPTER XVI.
IRISH LOYALTY.
Captain Avery's boat pulled away toward the Noank, and he remarked as he took hold of the tiller ropes:—
"I'm glad to be rid of all that crowd. Now there'll be more room for the rest of us. We can't afford to take prisoners."
"They'll report us, sir," said one of the sailors.
"They may say we mean to sack Liverpool, for all I care," growled the captain. "I wish we had a supply of fresh provisions, though. We had no time to take in any at Brest."
The whole boat's crew agreed with him, for they had been living on salt rations during many a long week.
The skipper of the Killarney and his friends of all sorts, with their personal baggage, were scattered high and low along the beach. The hospitable commiseration they were receiving was even excessive, and there appeared to be but one opinion among the population of that edge of Ireland concerning the general wickedness of privateering. At the side of the schooner, however, as if waiting for the captain's return, was a stout yawl-boat. It had four rowers and in the stern-sheets sat a large, florid, handsome man, very well dressed.
"It's the captain of this American pirate?" he loudly inquired. "Glad to see you, sir. I'm The McGahan and my place is inshore, yonder. Have ye ony good tobacco aboord, or a drop o' claret, or an anker of old Hollands?"