“Strong enough for that; but give me something to hit with. All right, I have my pocket-knife.”
“Ready then? Come on, and let’s see what had better be done.”
“Get Jarette down at any cost,” said the mate. “The rest will come easy.”
All this was in a whisper, and then we followed Mr Frewen to the shattered entrance of the saloon, and stood there looking forward, but seeing very little, though a white peculiar gleam came off the sea, and a couple of lanterns swung forward, by the side of one of which we made out the gleam of an oilskin upon whose wet surface the dim light played.
“He’ll be up by the wheel,” Mr Brymer whispered. “We must tackle him there; and once get him down, we can beat back the others. I’ll make sure for you.”
Just as he spoke all doubt was at an end, for we heard Jarette shout an order to the men at the wheel; and then, before any plan could be made, he trotted forward, swung himself down the steps on to the deck, as we shrank back into the companion-way, and went forward.
“Bah! We’ve let our chance go,” whispered Mr Frewen, and then we stood fast, for Jarette stopped and turned to come back into the saloon.
“Delivered into our hands,” I said to myself, as I drew a long breath, for the great struggle was about to begin.