“Ship firing signals for recall,” said the major. “We are wanted aboard.”
“Nonsense, sir!” said Gregory tartly. “We have no guns that would make such a report as that. What?”
This last was to Morgan, who whispered something to him excitedly.
“Pooh! nonsense, man!” cried Gregory again. Just then there was another shot, and another, and the first-mate’s face turned of a muddy hue.
“It’s fighting, as sure as I’m a soldier,” said the major nodding his head.
“You’re right, Morgan,” said the first-mate hoarsely.
“Come along, quick! There’s something wrong aboard the ship.”
“Aboard our ship—the Petrel?” cried Mark, with a curious choking sensation coming upon him, and his heart beating rapidly.
“There, don’t turn like that, my lad,” said Morgan kindly, as he clapped the lad on the shoulder. “We only fancy there may be something wrong, and I hope we have been deceived.”
“Do you think there will be a fight, Gregory?” said the major excitedly.