The offensive assurance of the man made me boil, but on Day it seemed to have a curiously astringent effect.
"So, Mr. Holgate, there has been a council of war," he said quietly, even drily, "and you are to step into my shoes. I will give you three minutes to retire from the deck. Go back! I tell you, do you hear, men? Go back!"
His acrid voice rang out thinly, but Barraclough above shouted hoarsely:
"Good God, can't you do something to them?"
At this moment I was aware of noises on the promenade deck, and, looking up, saw the Prince's figure outlined dimly against the stars.
"You have your orders," he called out in his deep voice. "Go back to your quarters."
There was a pause, and then the silence was broken by a shot, and one of the men fell. A second report rang out, and a curse rose on the air. A third followed, and the men turned and retreated.
From the hurricane deck came still another shot, and they tumbled down the ladder pell-mell. The Prince was shooting as calmly as at so many partridges. I ran down stairs and fetched my revolver, and when I returned I could hear no sound from the lower deck. Barraclough met me at the door of the saloon.
"There's not a pound of steam on her," he said. "The brutes have shut off the valves."
"Let her go," said I. "We have something more important on our hands. They'll be here again. The Prince took them by surprise. No English captain would have used his weapons so."