He was still speaking, when there was a rush down the cabin stairs, and the captain shouted—
“Quick, doctor! Your pistols and a gun! We are attacked!”
The words thrilled through Rodd, and the next minute he had seized a double gun and was ready to follow his uncle and the skipper on deck, where in the faint light of morning he found nearly the whole of the crew gathered across the after part of the deck, armed with capstan bars for the moment, while the mate and Joe Cross were rapidly handing round cutlasses and pikes. The forward part of the schooner was in the hands of strangers, all well-armed; others were climbing over the bows from a boat which was made fast alongside, while hurried orders were being given to them in French by a tall, dark, grey-haired man, sword in one hand, pistol in the other.
“What’s the meaning of this?” panted Uncle Paul to the skipper, while Rodd felt as if he were not yet awake, and suddenly recalled the fact that he had armed himself with a perfectly useless weapon, for in his excitement he had forgotten powder flask and bullets, having instead of the latter brought a belt containing small shot.
“Pirates or privateers, sir,” replied the skipper hotly, “but just give us time. Be smart, my lads. Pikes and cutlasses, and then all together with a will!”
“For heaven’s sake let’s have no bloodshed, Captain Chubb!” cried Uncle Paul, catching the skipper by the arm.
“Not my wish, sir,” said the captain shortly; “but this is my schooner while I command her, and I’m going to clear this deck.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” came in a low, eager murmur from the men.
“There, sir,” said the skipper; “you and the lad stand back. Ready, my lads?”
“No, no!” cried Uncle Paul, who saw that the strangers forward, all as well-armed as the schooner’s crew, were eagerly waiting for the order to advance from their leader, each party being ready to be let slip for what might prove to be a desperate encounter.