“And you’ll sink with us!” roared Juarez. “Down with them; slit their throats!”
There was a rush of men, and the little party were hemmed in.
A young officer bounded forward with drawn sword, and wheeling round, faced his men.
“Diavolo!” he hissed through his clenched teeth, “what devil’s game is this? You called to these gentlemen in your fear to help you, and now you would turn on them like base assassins. I tell you,” he cried passionately, “it shall not be!”
Webster and Hume, with their blue eyes flashing, ranged up on either side of their unexpected friend, while the British tars stood with their cutlasses ready.
Captain Pardoe, seeing something amiss, drew near. “Do you hear,” he shouted, “if you harm my men I’ll let go a torpedo.”
The young officer repeated the message, and the men whispered among themselves, then threw down their arms.
Juarez shot a venomous look at his officer, and placed his foot upon a knife, which, presently, he drew toward him.
Webster thanked the gallant foe for his assistance, and assured him that the sloop would keep afloat until they reached Madeira. He then turned to the side to speak to Captain Pardoe, while Frank Hume walked aft to see what damage had been wrought by the fire of the catcher.
There was a cry, and they turned to see the young officer fall, struck to the heart by the vengeful Captain. The next instant Juarez himself was cut to the deck by a slashing blow from a cutlass.