‘The Spanish colours, Mr Babbington,’ said Jack; and looking round Stephen saw the yellow and red break out at the peak. ‘We are sailing under false colours,’ whispered Stephen. ‘Is not that very heinous?’ ‘Eh?’ ‘Wicked, morally indefensible?’ ‘Bless you, sir, we always do that, at sea. But we’ll show our own at the last minute, you may be sure, before ever we fire a gun. That’s justice.
