In spite of himself the lieutenant started and raised his eyes, to become aware of the fact that some dozen or fourteen rifle barrels were protruding from the windows of the long low house, while others were being thrust from another building away to the right—a shed-like place that had been unnoticed before, through its covering of densely growing creepers.
“Don’t do that, youngsters,” said the American, with a sneering laugh; “they wouldn’t hurt anybody if you pulled ’em out, and some of my fellows indoors might take it as what you call a signal to draw their knives.”
“Trapped!” muttered the lieutenant to himself; but he did not wince, only stood thinking out to himself what would be his best course to pursue, and his musings were interrupted by the American, who lay back sending forth great puffs of smoke without a quiver visible in his face.
“Looks nasty, don’t it, Mr Officer?” said the man, in his long, slow drawl. “But don’t you be skeart; they won’t fire without I give the order or they see me hurt. Then I won’t answer for them. ’Tain’t because they’re so fond of me, youngsters,” he continued, with an ugly cat-like grin, “because they ain’t; but they’re afraid, and that’s a good deal better for me. And look here, they’re lying back there in the dark because I told ’em to, and you can’t see them; but they’re not niggers—oh no! You can’t trust niggers to fight. Your Jack Tars there would send a hundred of ’em running. Niggers are good field hands, and my chaps are bad at that, but they can fight, and so I tell you. Now, skipper,” he continued, turning quietly to the lieutenant, who was pressing his lower lip hard between his teeth, “I think we understand one another now, and that you see I didn’t put up any bunkum when I telled you that I was boss of this show. So you let me alone, and I’ll let you.”
“Sir,” said the lieutenant firmly, “I give you fair warning that if harm happens to a man of my party my captain will land a force that will burn this place to the ground.”
“Very kind of him, too,” said the man grimly, “but he won’t, because he mustn’t. You don’t seem to savvy, skipper, that you ain’t at home here. Do you know, sir, where you are?”
“Yes, sir; on the shores of one of his Majesty’s West Indian Islands.”
“I thought so, squire; well, then, you’re jest about wrong, and you’ve no more business here than if this here was Spain. I dessay you think you can hyste the British flag here, but I tell you that you can’t, for this here island is called South Baltimore, and whenever a flag is hysted here it’s the stars and stripes and the Aymurrican eagle, what some fellows call the goose and gridiron; and that’s so.”
“South Baltimore!” cried the lieutenant, who looked puzzled by the announcement. “And pray, sir, who gave the island that name?”
“I did,” said the Yankee drily. “Now then, will that do for you?”