“Does you now? Well, that is really very thoughtful of you. Been a blackbirder myself, though, darling. So just fire your guns in the air to please me, and to show us all is safe.”
“Curse you!” cried the ruffian.
The rifles rang out, and immediately after were flung on the deck.
Next minute, Stransom and Johnnie stood on the blackbirder’s poop.
“Good-morning,” said the former, with provoking coolness. “Sulky was he? Eh? Ah, but his mother’s darling mustn’t. Your new captain, that’s me, doesn’t like sulky boys. Ah! he smiles! See this little thing? Look, this is a revolver. His new captain doesn’t want to shoot, but must now send all hands below, prisoners—four of you? Eh? All right, down all of you to the hold. And when your new captain comes back he’ll let you all free and not hang anybody if everybody will be good and do as he is told.”
In five minutes more all four blackbirders were under lock and key.
“She’s safe enough,” said Stransom, as they pulled back shorewards. “They can’t weigh anchor and give us the slip.”
Allison’s Strange Story.
Fitzroy poured a little brandy from his flask into the man’s mouth. He swallowed it, and presently he felt strong enough to raise himself slightly and to sit supported in the arms of a native.
“Mr. Fitzroy,” he said, “you must bear with me, and you must forgive me for what I have done. Can you? Do you?”