“Our friend Barney is already accounted for, Hampton,” cried Mr Frewen.
“What?—you have tackled him?” said Bob Hampton excitedly, slapping his knee.
“Yes, that we have, Bob,” I cried, “and he is quite safe.”
“Then I scuses you all for laughing, gentlemen; though it did seem rather a rum thing to me for you to be a-busting out in a loud grin at a serus time like this. I see now. You met him then?”
“Yes, we met him,” replied Mr Frewen, leading the way up the ladder to the poop-deck, “but he must wait.”
He cocked his pistol as he reached the top, and we did the same.
“Shall I speak ’em first, gentlemen?” said Bob Hampton, in a low voice.
“Yes, tell them to surrender,” said the mate. “We don’t want any more fighting; and look here, Hampton, we want their help to navigate the ship.”
“I know, sir,” growled the old sailor, and stepping to the front he walked straight to where the two men still kept to their posts at the wheel, knowing as they did that to leave it meant throwing the ship into the trough of the sea to be deluged by every wave.
“Game’s up, my lads!” shouted Hampton. “Orficers has got the upper hand on us with loaded pistols, and you’ve got to knuckle down same as we have, and return to your dooty.”