“On board,” he cried, waving his hand to the catcher, and in a moment was on the deck of the smaller ship.
“Madam and men,” he said in his deep tones, “the ship we saw last night is, I fear, a cruiser of the Brazilian navy. She is near us, and if she is an enemy we are in danger. The blame is mine. I should have kept on instead of remaining to save this vessel.”
Miss Anstrade made as though she would speak, but the Captain waved his hand.
“Madam—Miss Laura—no words you could say would add to the regret I feel. But there is no time. I have brought you into this peril, and please God I will deliver you. I want nine men to fight this ship. Who volunteers?”
There was a moment’s pause as the men looked at one another, then the Quartermaster stood out.
“We are all yours, Captain; to the last man.”
“Ay, ay,” came the response.
A dull flush crept into the Captain’s face. “Thank you, men,” he said quietly; “but I want nine only. Quartermaster, select eight. Mr Hume, help Miss Anstrade on board. Mr Webster, take command of the Irene, and make full steam as soon as I engage the cruiser.”
The men lingered reluctantly, and Miss Anstrade, with heaving breast, stood looking at the Captain.
“Quick, Mr Hume,” said the Captain, and at the same moment he took Miss Anstrade by the hand and led her to the ladder. “I am very sorry,” he said; then his hand was seized by a sailor, and all the men in turn wrung his hand as they passed.