the Captain argued for the prompt and efficient sinking of the Greyhound. In vain they exhausted their ammunition on the paintless and imperturbable stern-boards of their captor.
Right down through the heart of Chamboro, where men and women and children, standing on the bridges, and docks, and river-banks, beheld and laughed at their ignominious helplessness, right down past Ellis's Brick Yard and the upper Lime Kiln they were towed, three good miles from their anchorage.
"Now, row back, you thievin' young rowdies! Row back, and mebbe that 'll sweat some o' these gay pirit notions out o' you!"
And the Lone Star cast off, and bustled unconcernedly down about her own private business, whistling a final brazen taunt as she rounded a shadowy bend and disappeared from sight.
