“Oh, I see ’em, my lad; well, that means fighting, and I never knowed a boy yet as didn’t know how to fight.”
“We must try to beat them off, Bob,” I said, ignoring his remark.
“Nay, not try—do it, sir; and you, being skipper, of course ’ll give ’em a startler to show ’em what’s waiting for ’em, if they try to board again.”
“What do you mean, Bob?” I cried.
“Well, come, I like that, sir,” he said, with a laugh; “there have you got the little signal-gun loaded and primed, and the poker all red-hot and waiting, and i’stead o’ having it run to the gangway, set open ready to give ’em their startler, you says you don’t know what to do?”
“Would you do that, Bob?” I said anxiously.
“No; but you would, sir, being skipper, and wanting to save the ship, what’s left o’ the cargo, and all aboard.”
“But it might sink them.”
“And jolly well serve ’em right—a set of piratical sharks. Ahoy, Barney!—you aren’t to stop at that there wheel now; the skipper wants you to lend a hand with the gun.”
Barney ran up to us, and the gun was dragged to the open gangway, ready for the mutineers, as they still rowed on.