The chief was on his quarter-deck, looking rather haggard. His head was still bandaged, but was surmounted by a very large broad-brimmed felt hat. He was armed with his sword and silver-mounted pistols; and grouped about him were some of his principal followers, several of whom had evidently not come scathless out of the late affray. I noticed that upon the upper deck the brig carried six small brass guns, and abaft all, under a small poop, were stands for rifles and side-arms. I took all this in with a hasty glance, and then hurriedly turned my attention to the long, low stretch of land which was just visible over the port bulwarks.
Was it an island?
I was just debating this point in my mind, and trying to obtain a clearer view of the brig’s surroundings, and to see if there was another vessel with us, when I received a severe blow upon the back from a sheathed sword.
Turning hastily to ascertain who my cowardly assailant was, I found that it was Miguel, whose face wore its usual malevolent smile.
“Keep eye shut,” he said significantly, “or you get your troat cut, like plentee moch of ze udder Ingleeshmans!”
I considered that this was a delicate hint worth taking, for I had no wish to be put out of the way, or even blindfolded. So I cast my eyes sheepishly to the deck, and answered not a word.
But I very quickly had fresh opportunities of using my powers of observation. The chief issued some order, and we were at once marched to the entry-port by our guard, and conveyed down the side into a large cutter-shaped boat which lay alongside, manned by half a dozen of the brig’s crew. We were placed in the stern-sheets; and I had no sooner taken my seat there than my eye fell on a topsail schooner lying at anchor a few cable-lengths ahead of our own vessel. Everything on board her looked in great disorder, and I noticed that some of her rigging was shot away and hanging in bights, while her sails were loosely flapping about, and her yards and gaffs at all sorts of queer angles. I heard a confused hubbub of voices proceeding from her upper deck, but could not see the speakers owing to the schooner’s very lofty bulwarks.
“Yonder is the prize,” whispered Ned to me; “and a taut little craft she looks.”
I could not answer him, for I saw Miguel’s glittering eyes upon me. I gave my coxswain a warning nudge, and at the same moment the order was given to shove the boat off.
The oars splashed into the water, our bows were turned towards the land, and the crew struck up some kind of a boat-song with a weird refrain.