“I’m glad you are safe, sir; and this is—”
He had not finished his sentence when one of Black Mazzard’s men yelled out—
“The Commodore—our captain—sir!”
“Once,” said Humphrey, roused by the ruffian’s words, and gazing sharply round; “but one who spared my life, sir, and with this poor fellow here defended me from that dead scoundrel and his gang!”
As he spoke he spurned the body of Black Mazzard, who had hardly stirred since he received Bart’s bullet.
“I am at your service, Captain Armstrong,” said the officer, “and will take my instructions from you.”
“For the wretches taken in arms, sir, I have nothing to say; but for this poor wounded fellow I ask proper help and protection. I will be answerable for him.”
Bart looked at him quickly and reeled slightly as he limped to his side.
“Thank ye, captain,” he said. “I ought to hate you, but she loved you, and that’s enough for me. If I don’t see you again, sir—God bless you and good-bye!”
“But we shall see each other again, Bart, and I hope—here, quick!” he cried, “help here; the poor fellow is fainting from loss of blood!”