“As she had a right to,” cried Fitz, “being from one of the Queen’s ships on duty.”
“Oh, I am not going to argue that, my lad,” said the skipper coolly. “I was sailing down channel, interfering with nobody, when I was boarded by a lot of armed men in the dark, and I did what any skipper would do under the circumstances. The boat’s crew meant to capture my craft and my valuable cargo, so after a scuffle I had them all pitched overboard to get back to their boat, and gave them the go-by in the darkness, and I haven’t seen anything of them since.”
“Oh!” exclaimed Fitz. “Resisting one of Her Majesty’s crews! Do you know, sir, what it means?”
“I know what the other means, my lad—losing my craft and valuable cargo, and some kind of punishment, I suppose, for what I have done.”
“But you have taken me prisoner, then?” cried Fitz.
“Well, not exactly, my lad,” said the skipper, smiling. “I shouldn’t have done that if I had known. Nobody knew you were on board till the next morning, for we were all too busy clapping on all sail so as to give your gunboat a clean pair of heels.”
“Never mind me,” cried Fitz excitedly. “What about the boat’s crew?”
“Oh, they’ll be all right. They got back to their boat. We could hear plainly enough the shouting one to the other, and your officer hailing till the last man was picked up. They were showing their lantern then without stint, not giving us a mere glimpse like they did when we saw it first.”
“Oh!” ejaculated Fitz, drawing his breath between his teeth as he recalled the dropping off to sleep of poor Bill Smith.
“It was not till sunrise, my lad, that I knew you were on board. You had had an unlucky crack on the head which sent you down the companion-ladder, and when my lads brought and laid you up on deck it seemed to me the worst part of the night’s business.”