“I carries more flesh now than I did then,” he said afterwards, when telling the story to his cronies. “That’s what comes of marrying a good wife what looks after your vittles. Still, what you can’t help, make the best of; that’s what I always say.”
Bulky though he was, at this critical moment he showed himself astonishingly agile. He snatched two cutlasses from the stand of arms, and thrust one into Martin’s hand.
“Better than a stick, my lad,” he said. “Stand you guard over they two rascals”—he indicated Slocum and Seymour, who were sitting more or less disabled on the floor. “If they stir, touch ’em with the point.”
Then, rather breathlessly, he turned to meet the rush at the door.
Meanwhile the Frenchman was keeping an eye on Blackbeard. Disarmed and injured, the captain of the Santa Maria stood between the table and the wall, his dark face distorted with fury. Mounseer could not attack him again while he was unarmed, nor was there space or time for the duel that would have rejoiced the Frenchman’s heart. But he knew that if he took his eye off him for a moment he might expect a rush, and all that he could do was to shift his ground slightly so that he might be able to lend aid to Gollop if the crew made a determined assault through the door.
“You will have the goodness to retire yourself one step or two,” he said to Blackbeard, his tone icily polite. To give himself room it was necessary that the captain should move backward into the round-house.
Blackbeard muttered a curse under his breath, but refused to budge.
“Eh bien, voilà!” said the Frenchman, with a sudden deft movement pricking him with the point of his rapier.
The captain winced, shrieked out an oath, but made no more ado about obeying orders. Then Mounseer half turned, and stood so that he could either check Blackbeard if he showed fight, or move to Gollop’s help, as the occasion might demand.
Cutlass in hand, Martin stood over his prisoners, who had shown no sign of activity themselves, but were looking eagerly, hopefully, towards the door. Martin found it difficult to prevent his attention from being distracted by the fight that was now raging there. The crew of the vessel, headed by the officer whom Martin had seen once before, had surged in a yelling crowd towards the round-house, catching up as they ran any object that would serve as a weapon. Some had marline-spikes, one brandished a short spar, another a hanger; several had drawn evil-looking knives, and fat Sebastian wielded a meat chopper.