His voice indicated surprise and some apprehension. What could it be?
"Let us go on deck at once," said Kempthorne, stepping forward. As he did so the silence was broken by a wild, terrified cry. A moment after, the sentry on the quarter-deck outside the entrance to the poop cabin fired his piece. The shot was followed by the sound of a fierce blow, and then a heavy fall. A sharp, imperious voice cried quickly:
"The ship is ours! Waste no time! Overboard with him! Clap to the hatch covers!"
The necessity for concealment outside was apparently at an end. The heavy covers were flung down upon the hatches and secured. The ship was filled with a confused babel of many voices and trampling feet. At the sound of the shot, the admiral and the master sprang to the door, but before they could pass the entrance it was flung violently open, and a man richly dressed after the fashion of Jamaica, followed by a tall, savage-looking half-breed, a compound of negro and Indian, clad in a gorgeous livery, each with pistol and sword, sprang into the room and forced the two men back. As soon as he could recover himself Kempthorne whipped out his sword. He found himself covered, however, as did the master, with a pistol.
"Throw down your sword!" cried Morgan fiercely, "and yield yourselves without quarter."
"Who are you that ask?"
"You bloody villain!" cried Kempthorne. "Dare you attempt to take the King's ship?"
"That for the King!" answered Morgan, waving his sword. "Who are you?"
"Sir John Kempthorne, Admiral and Vice-Governor of Jamaica."