And in the same mild manner he continued to his men:
"To your stations. Remember cap'n's orders. Now these two are aboard, ye'll fire at any boat that approaches and challenge afterward."
The negro lackeys stood aside as we came to the cabin entrance under the poop; the door was open. Down the dark tunnel of the companionway with its stateroom doors on either hand Peter and I could see my great-uncle sitting at the table in the main cabin, a glass of wine at his elbow, a chart spread out before him. He raised his head as we entered.
"You were cheated of your sport, I conclude," he greeted us. "The watch informed me a half-hour since they had heard no shots ashore."
I recounted briefly our conversation with Flint and the determination Peter and I had reached in consequence. He nodded agreement with it.
"You did quite right, Robert. Peter did not exaggerate the dangers inherent in the situation."
"You appear not to feel any too safe yourself," I answered sarcastically, "with sentinels posted on your decks ordered to shoot into any approaching boat."
"I do not," he assented with perfect equanimity. "'Tis true I should be surprized did our confrères of the Walrus undertake to assault us, but I have had too much experience with desperate men, especially when they are under the influence of liquor, to discount the possibility of their adopting any atrocious idea which might enter their heads."
"Do you mean that you live in perpetual fear of treachery from Flint's crew?"
He considered the question, sipping at his wine.