“Murder!” exclaimed Tom Fillot, leaping up in the stern-sheets. “I never thought of that.”
Chapter Twenty Six.
Trading with the American.
For a few brief moments Mark was ready to turn back and make sure of his prize, but every stroke was carrying him nearer to the stranger, and in less time than it takes to describe it, he found out that he had alarmed himself with his own bugbear.
For the Yankee skipper, apparently taken quite aback at the sight of the armed boat’s crew, began by ordering his men to stop, and then turned and had himself rowed back as swiftly as possible, with the result that the boats reached the two sides of the second schooner nearly together. And as Mark scrambled up and over the stern, in spite of the menacing looks of three men at the side, who, however, fell back before Tom Fillot and those who followed, the Yankee master stepped over the bulwarks too, and advanced to meet Mark.
“How are yew?” he said, coolly. “Didn’t know yew was coming aboard. Can yew trade me a barrel or two o’ good whites flour? I’m running rayther short.”
“Perhaps I can,” said Mark, sharply, as he cast an eye over the deck. “What ship’s this?”
“Ef yew’d looked at her starnboard yew’d hev seen, mister. She’s the Mariar B Peasgood, o’ Charleston, South Carlinar, trading in notions. What’s yourn?”