Two of them were dead.

The Italian sailor had been shot through the body, and was twisting in his last agony.
The bloodshed was bad enough, but those shots were worse.

They would set the island in an uproar.

The reports would be heard in town, citadel, and fort, and the troops would now be on the _qui vive_.

But De Sylva was a man of resource.
"Strip the prisoners!" he cried.