“I’ll be answerable for him, Captain Harness,” says Mr Ward; and though all this went on in whispers, there wasn’t a face to be seen, every light having been put out. “You may trust him, he’s no spy.”
“Spy be hanged,” I says. “Who’s going to play spy down here, in a place as is dark as an empty pitch-kettle in a ship’s hold! Don’t I tell you I’ve had to cut and run for my life, and what more do you want?”
“Nothing, my man,” says Mr Ward; “only your help as a good and true British sailor, for here are women and children for us to protect.”
“However shall I get to my birds?” some one says from out of the darkness.
“Birds!” I says: “you won’t want no more birds, sir, for it’s my impression as we’re going to be kept caged up ourselves now.”
Just then I seemed to catch just a faint glimpse of a face from out of the darkness, then it was gone again, and half a minute after I got another glimpse, and then another, when it was plain enough that the day was breaking; and then quickly the pale light stole down through the skylight, till the anxious faces of all the passengers, with the two officers and Sam Brown, was plain enough to see; and strange, and haggard, and queer they looked; but for all that, there was an air of determination amongst them, that showed they meant mischief; and I soon gathered from Mr Ward’s words that he was spurring the captain on to try and retake the ship.
“I’m afraid it would only be a sacrifice of life, if I did,” said the skipper.
“It would be a sacrifice of duty, if you did not, sir,” says Mr Ward warmly.
“Perhaps you’d better retake her yourself, sir,” says the skipper sulkily.
“I certainly shall try, sir, if you do not do your duty, to protect these helpless women. But we have a right to demand your assistance, and we do; while I have the word of every man present that he will fight to the last gasp for those who need our protection.”