“Why not?” said Fitz. “I feel as if I must. Perhaps I shouldn’t if I were one of your crew, and like that.”
He pointed quickly to his companion’s belt, from which hung a sword, and then quickly touched the flap of the little holster buttoned over the brass stud. “You won’t use that, will you?” he said. “Not if I can help it,” was the reply. “Help it! Why, of course you needn’t unless you like.”
“Well, I shouldn’t like to, of course. But if you were I, and you saw one of these fellows aiming at one of your men, say at old Butters or Chips, setting aside the dad, wouldn’t you try and whip it out to have first shot?”
Fitz nodded shortly, and for the time being the conversation ceased, while the lads’ attention was taken up by the sight of the Camel, who after making a rattling noise as if stoking his fire in the galley, shut the door with a bang, and came out red-faced and hot, wiping his hands prior to buckling on a belt with its cutlass and then helping himself to a capstan-bar.
It was only a few minutes later that the bows of a large cutter came in sight, followed by the regularly dipping oars of the crew of swarthy sailors who were pulling hard.
The next moment the uniforms of two officers could be made out in the stern-sheets, where they sat surrounded by what answered to marines, and before the cutter had come many yards the bows of its consort appeared.
As they came within sight of the schooner a cheer arose, a sort of imitation British cheer, which had a curious effect upon the schooner’s crew, for to them it seemed so comic that they laughed; but a growl from the mate made every one intent for the serious work in hand, as at the next order they divided in two parties, each taking one side of the schooner for the defence under command of the skipper and his chief officer.
“You understand, Burgess?” said the former sternly. “You will keep a sharp eye on us, and I’ll keep one on you. It must be a case of the one helping the other who is pressed.”
The mate grunted, and the skipper spoke out to his men.
“Look here, my lads,” he said; “we are not at war, and I want no bloodshed. Use your capstan-bars as hard as you like, and tumble them back into their boats, or overboard. No cutlass, edge or point, unless I give the word.”