I could see the faces of Jarette and his men now clearly enough in the one boat, while in the other I picked out five men, among whom was the cook, who would have been, I should have thought, the very last to join in so desperate a game, one which certainly meant penal servitude for all, and possibly a worse punishment for the leaders, as death might very probably ensue in the desperate attack upon the ship. But I had no more time for such thoughts. Jarette just then rose up in the stern of the boat he was in, and hailed us.
“Ahoy, there! Open that gangway,” he shouted, “and let down the roped steps.”
Mr Brymer stepped to the bulwarks just opposite the boat.
“Throw up your oars there,” he cried, and the men obeyed, so used were they to his orders.
“Row, you idiots, row!” roared Jarette, and the oars splashed again.
“Stop there, you in the boats,” cried Mr Brymer, “or I give the order to fire.”
“Bah! don’t be a fool, Brymer,” he shouted. “Pull away, my lads; they won’t fire. Hi! there, the rest of you, don’t take any notice of the mate. We saw you were on fire and in danger. We saw the fire and smoke in the night, and came to save you.”
“In the same way as you deserted the ship when you thought she would sink,” said Mr Brymer, tauntingly.
“Pull, my lads, and get aboard,” cried Jarette, so that the men in the other boat could hear; “he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. We’ll put the fire out, and then talk to him.”
Bang! went Mr Brymer’s revolver, fired over the heads of the men in Jarette’s boat, and the Frenchman fell backward into the stern-sheets.