Captain Barker took counsel with his officers. He expected to be attacked
during the night by the united boats of the pursuing fleet. Under cover
of darkness they would be able to creep up close and board the vessel,
and the captain knew well that if taken he would be treated as a pirate.
His papers were made out for Philadelphia; he had hoisted Portuguese
colors, but the enemy at close quarters could easily see that the Good
Intent was British built; he had disabled one of the Company's vessels;
there would be no mercy for him.
He saw no chance of beating off the enemy; they would outnumber him by at
least five to one. Even if the wind sprang up again there was small
likelihood of escape. One or other of the pursuing vessels would almost
certainly overhaul him, and hold him until the others came up.
"'Tis a 'tarnal fix," he said.
"Methinks 'tis a case of actum est de nobis," remarked Diggle pleasantly.
"Confound you!" said the captain with a burst of anger. "What could I
expect with a gallows bird like you aboard? 'Tis enough to sink a vessel
without shot."
Diggle's face darkened. But in a moment his smile returned.
"You are overwrought, captain," he said; "you are unstrung. 'Twould be
ridiculous to take amiss words said in haste. In cold blood--well, you
know me, Captain Barker. I will leave you to recover from your brief
madness."
He went below. The captain was left with Mr. Toley and the other
officers. Barker and Toley always got on well together, for the simple
reason that the mate never thwarted his superior, never resented his
abuse, but went quietly his own way.
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