“Ay, ay sir; I sees it, plain enough,” answered the man named Bill; while his companion, Tom, replied, “Yes; I can see something afloat out there, certingly; but I wouldn’t like to take it upon me to say what it is.”
“Very well,” said Leslie, turning to Bill; “you appear to have tolerably good eyes—”
“Main-top, there,” interrupted Potter, “are you coming down out of that, or aren’t you? If you’re not, say the word, and I’ll come up myself and start the lot of you.”
“For the Lord’s sake, sir, go down, I beg ye; or there’ll be something like murder up here in a brace of shakes, if the skipper keeps his word,” exclaimed Tom, in accents of consternation.
“Leave your skipper to me; I will undertake to keep him in order if he is ill-advised enough to come up here. Now,” he resumed, turning again to Bill, “you seem to have reasonably good eyes. Look carefully at that wreckage, and tell me whether you can see anything having the appearance of a man waving a shirt, or something of the kind.”
The man looked long and intently, gazing out under the sharp of his hand; and presently he turned to Leslie and said—
“Upon my word, sir, I do believe you’re right; there do seem to be something a wavin’ over there—”
The sharp crack of a pistol and the whistle of a ballet close past them interrupted the man’s speech; and, looking down, they saw Potter standing aft near the lashed wheel with a smoking revolver in his hand, which he still pointed threateningly at the top.
The two men, without another word, flung themselves simultaneously over the edge of the top and made their way precipitately down the rigging, while Leslie, swinging himself on to the topmast-backstay, slid lightly down it, reaching the deck some seconds ahead of them. He alighted close alongside Miss Trevor, who, with her hands clutched tightly together, stood, the image of terror, gazing with horrified eyes at the skipper.
In two bounds Leslie reached Potter’s side.