“May I look, sir?” he said sharply, and without waiting for consent, he raised it to his eyes and quickly scanned all three of the schooners in turn.
“It’s no use beating about, gentlemen,” he said sharply. “Something is wrong, for all three decks are swarming now with men like bees—wasps, I ought to say,” he muttered, as he concentrated his gaze upon the Maid of Salcombe. “Our vessel, doctor, is in the hands of pirates, or slavers, and they are making ready the long gun. Now, my lads, look alive. Every man buckle on his arms and then load.”
The oars were allowed to swing from the tholes, and the boat was left to glide slowly downwards, while in their smart orderly way her crew prepared for action.
“You will load too, gentlemen—with ball. Now, doctor, will you take command and lead us?”
“What to do?” asked the doctor.
“Why, to take our schooner again, sir. She’s in the hands of an enemy.”
“But is it possible that we can do this, Cross?” cried the doctor.
“I don’t know, sir, for she’s got a lot of men on board; but we have got to try.”
“Stop. Let me think,” said the doctor. “I am no man of war, and this is not in my way. If any unfortunate fellow were wounded I could do my best. But look here, my lads; you are nearly all men-of-war’s men, and you, Morny, you are a naval officer. Seeing the odds before us, what is our duty here?”
“To fight,” cried the young man passionately, through his clenched teeth.