By sunrise, indeed, she was settled on bottom, with the side down; but an hour after this there was a shout from the cook on deck. The others were below, eating like starved men, and poured up to see two craft standing in around the headland for the cove.
“English!” said Frontin coolly. “A bark and a ketch, and either of them could master us——”
Oaths stormed and curses rang, for there was no powder and the guns were useless. Some wanted to flee ashore with the gold, but Vanderberg, his half-beard floating in the wind, cursed them into silence and ordered the guns unstopped and run out.
“Little they know we can’t bite!” said he. While they were at this, however, and the two English ships running into the cove, Frontin fell suddenly to laughing and pointed to a man in the bows of the bark, which was the nearer craft.
“There’s Bose—ha! Crawford has brought us the ships and men.”
Oaths and sour curses changed to yells of mad delight, which were answered from the two ships; and these ran down and anchored a cable-length away. A boat put off from the ketch, with Crawford in her, and picked up Bose from the bark. When Vanderberg saw all his old men coming in the boat, and other men still aboard the bark, he swore with mad joy that Crawford should have an extra share of the gold, to which the other men joined their vote. But Frontin stood to one side, his glittering eyes hard and cold, and a saturnine smile just touching his thin lips.
Crawford came over the rail, Bose and the men poured aboard, and there was pandemonium for a while, stories bawled forth, chests and gold to be stared at, rum to be swigged. Crawford looked at the loot and turned away with a cool shrug, exchanged a glance with Frontin, and found Vanderberg tugging at his sleeve and squinting at the two craft.
“What men are those? Where did ye find ’em? The ketch is a prize,” he said.
“Ay, a Bostonnais—a fur-pirate, blown out of her course by storm. When her cap’n and officers were pistoled, she gave in,” said Crawford. “Eleven men left alive aboard her who are glad enough to go pirating under Vanderberg or Crawford. On the bark I have eight Irishmen who care naught for Vanderberg but much for Crawford.”
“Damme and sink me!” roared Vanderberg delightedly, and smote him between the shoulders. “Come down to the cabin and talk in peace.”