“Come; he’s a quiet one,” said the coxswain. “Mind, sir!”
“Mind! look out!” roared the boatswain.
But he was too late. One moment the Chinaman crouched, limp and helpless, in the bottom of the boat forward, with his hands hidden in his wet sleeves, the next he had made a frog-like leap at the coxswain, driven a sharp knife in the muscles of his back, and leaped overboard. Not into safety, though; for one of the men stood ready, and, as the wretch rose, brought down the blade of his oar with a tremendous chop across the head, and the pirate went down to rise no more.
I heard the boatswain utter a low fierce growl as he crept forward, and I followed to try and help, for the injured man had sunk upon his knees, with the boat-hook across the bows, and began to wipe the perspiration from his forehead.
“Much hurt, my lad?” cried Mr Grey.
“Tidy, sir, tidy; makes one feel a bit sicky-like. Any one like to have the next turn with the boat-hook? I’m going to miche a bit.—Do it bleed?”
All thought of saving the pirates was given up till the wound, which bled sharply, was carefully bandaged, and the man laid down in the bottom of the boat. Then the crew looked at their officer.
“Hadn’t we better polish ’em off, sir?” growled one of the men.
“The captain’s orders were to pick up all the drowning men we could,” said the boatswain sternly.
“But they won’t be picked up, sir.”