“Them thugs will try to board us now,” said Satan. “We’ve gotta fight. There’s Cleary puttin’ off, and we’ll have the whole Noah’s ark on us in two ticks. We’ve gotta get the ammunition ready.”
“There are guns down below,” said Ratcliffe.
“Guns!” said Satan. “God bless you, we don’t want no guns! Cark’s too frightened of the law to let any of his men use knives or pistols. Jude, where’s that tub of stinkin’ bait—you haven’t hove it over, have you?”
“Nope.”
“Cart it along. Rat; fetch up them five bottles of whisky,—they’re better’n bumshells,—and there’s an old fryin’ pan in the galley with a hole in it. Fetch it with the rest. There’s nothin’ like a fryin’ pan for beltin’ people—you can’t miss. What you gettin’ at Jude?”
“The mop,” said Jude. “I don’t want nothing better for sweepin’ up rubbish!”
“Well, maybe; but they’ll fight better’n you think. Lord! if I only had a roll of barb wire! Here they come! Hurry up, Rat!”
The three boats, Sellers and Cleary leading, were in motion and making for the Juan.
“We’ve only two to reckon with,” said Satan, as Ratcliffe arrived, Jude helping him up with the ammunition. “Cark won’t join in: he’s too frightened of his skin. Now then, ready with your weapons!”
He was right. Cark’s boat, half a cable length away, backed water while the redoubtable Cleary and Sellers rushed like hawks on the prey, aiming to board the Sarah to starboard, Cleary forward, Sellers aft.