At the invitation of Humanitarian Burbank, the prisoners rush up. Fifty of them have gained the deck when Commodore Paul Jones perceives them. Pulling a pistol from his belt, he charges forward.
“Who released these prisoners?” he demands.
“The ship is sinking, sir,” replies Humanitarian Burbank. “I released them to give them a chance for their lives.”
Eye ablaze, Commodore Paul Jones snaps his pistol in the face of Humanitarian Burbank. Fortunately for that philanthropist, the priming has been shaken out; while the flint throws off a shower of sparks, the pistol does not explode. Upon its failure to fire. Commodore Paul Jones clubs the heavy weapon, and fells Humanitarian Burbank to the deck. The latter comes to presently, to find himself disrated on the ship’s books, and his addled pate more addled than before. As Humanitarian Burbank falls to the deck, Commodore Paul Jones makes a dash for the prisoners, who, two abreast, are pushing up from the deck below.
“Under hatches with them!” he cries.
This rouses Midshipman Potter, who brings up a half dozen cutlass men, and those of the prisoners not yet on deck are held below. The orlop-hatch is again fitted to its place, and Commodore Paul Jones breathes freer. Two hundred prisoners loose about his decks is not what he most desires.
“Set them to the pumps, Dick,” he says, addressing Lieutenant Dale. “Give them plenty of work.” Then, to the fifty prisoners who gained the deck: “Now, my men, to the pumps, all of you! I’ll have no idlers about!”
The prisoners go to the pumps readily enough—all save a stubborn merchant captain, whose ship was captured by the Richard off the port of Leith.
“Don’t ye go a-nigh the pumps, mates!” sings out the stubborn one. “Let the damned Yankee pirate sink!”
“Obey the Commodore, sare!” pipes up little Pierre Gerard, presenting a pistol at the head of the mutineer. “Obey the Commodore, or I shoot, sare!”