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"Glad to see ye, Mike, and wish I could say the
same to poor Roger. The devils knifed poor Roger, I reckon."
"No, they did not," said my father, in a lull of the wind.
"They knocked him on the back of the head and slid his body down the
after-companion. The noise of him bumping down the ladder was what
first fetched me awake. He's a trifle dazed yet, but recovering."
"'Tis a short life he'll recover to, unless we stir ourselves."
Billy clutched my father's arm. "Look 'ee, master! See what they
heathens be doin'!"
"We have scared 'em," said my father. "They are putting about."
"_Something_ has scared 'em, sure 'nough. But if 'tis from us they
be in any such hurry to get away, why did they take in a reef before
putting the helm over? No, no, master: they know the weather
hereabouts, and we don't. We've been reckonin' this for a
thunderstorm--a short blow and soon over. They know better, seemin'
to me. Else why don't they tack alongside and finish us?"
"I believe you are right," said my father, after a long look to
windward.
"And I'm sure of it," insisted Billy.


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