"Put on ivery divilish stitch o' canvas yer tub 'll carry," said
Terrence to Luff Williams. "The Johnny Bulls won't like this a bit, and
bad luck to us if they git their hands on us."
Fernando, now that the nervous strain was over, sank back in the boat,
almost completely exhausted.
"Fernando, ye did it illegintly," said the young Irishman.
"Will he die?"
"Not unless the doctors kill him trying to dig it out."
"I hope they won't."
"What the divil's the difference? Before this toime next year, we'll be
shootin' redcoats for sport."
"Say, what's that, shipmate?" drawled out Luff Williams.
"Where?"
"Look ahead."
"A long boat full o' British marines!" cried Terrence. "Boys, I don't
like that. Mr. Luff Williams, if ye want a whole skin over yer body pull
about and sail down the coast like the divil was after ye!"
In less than two minutes' time their craft was put about and went flying
before the wind, under a full stretch of canvas. The boat impelled by
eight stout oarsmen pressed hard in their wake.
"Heave to! heave to!" cried an officer in the pursuing boat. "Heave to,
or we will fire on you!"
"Niver mind him, me frind," said Terrence to the man at the rudder.
"I'll tell ye when to lay low."
They were in long musket shot distance, and Williams assured them that
if they could round a headland, they would get a stiffer breeze and
outsail their pursuer.
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