“Not us!” came back hoarsely. “Now, lads, rush ’em; they’ve got no pistols!”
Two shots hardly heard in the roar of the storm were fired over the heads of the men who were about to rush forward; but if the reports were faint in the din, the flashes were bright and clear, and in place of charging at us they hung back, and we were upon them in an instant. I say we, for somehow or other I did as the others did, and the men gave in directly and were marched to the hatch, below which jarette could be heard raving at his fellow-prisoners.
“Now,” cried Mr Brymer, “you know me, my lads; I never say things I don’t mean. The moment that hatch is opened, you jump down. If you hesitate I fire.”
“But old Frenchy will fire up as soon as it’s opened.”
“He will not fire at you.”
“But he may hit us, sir.”
“Open that hatch, Mr Preddle,” cried Brymer, and he cocked his pistol, Mr Frewen following suit.
“That’s right, sir; fire too, in case I miss.”
“But,” cried the man, imploringly, “let me stay on deck, and I’ll return to my duty.”
“We don’t want you, dog!” cried Mr Frewen.