“Tell them to clear off the deck, then, doctor. There must be no talk here.”
“Be silent, Captain Chubb!” cried Uncle Paul sternly. “We must have no bloodshed.”
“No, sir,” cried his opponent quickly, and in very excellent English. “We are no pirates. I am the captain of that brig, and in urgent need of help.”
“And this is a very strange way of asking for it, sir.”
“Yes, yes, I know, my friend,” cried the other hotly, “but it was forced upon me by circumstances. I have need of your vessel, and I must have it at all costs—peacefully if you will, and I am ready to recompense you, the owner, for any loss of cargo at your destination which you may incur; but I must have the use of this little ship.”
“Indeed, sir!” said Uncle Paul, with a peculiar smile. “And if I say you cannot have it; what then?”
“Then, sir,” said the stranger haughtily, “you see we are prepared. I shall be compelled to take it from you by force.”
“Ah–h–h!” came like a low growl of satisfaction from the schooner’s crew, and Rodd was conscious of a rather ominous movement on the part of the men, who began moistening their hands and taking a firmer grip of their weapons.
Rodd was drinking in this colloquy, which filled him with wild excitement; but all the time he kept glancing from the young officer who stood sword in hand to the brig he had seen over-night and again thrown up by the storm, still lying about the same distance away from the schooner, and then with his head suddenly seeming to become clearer he cried out aloud—
“Uncle, those are the officers we saw at Havre, and that’s the brig that escaped.”