“No, sir,” said he, coldly, “I am not going to signal that vessel.”
“Do you mean to say that you’re going to drown every man aboard this ship, as you might a cage full of rats, just because you’re too proud to signal an Englishman.”
Captain Knight made no answer; he only looked at Jack and smiled, and Tom Granger thought that it was as wicked a smile as he had ever seen in all of his life.
“Now, by the eternal,” roared Jack, “I’ll run the signals up myself!”
“You’ll do nothing of the kind,” said Captain Knight. He spoke very quietly, but his face was as white as the other’s was red.
“Won’t I? That you’ll see,” said Jack, passionately, and he made a movement to turn.
“Wait a moment, sir,” said the captain, in his quiet voice. But the words were hardly out of his mouth, when, as quick as a flash, a pistol was leveled at Jack’s head, with a pair of wicked grey eyes behind it.
There was a dead pause for about as long as you could count ten; the captain’s finger lay on the trigger, and every instant Tom expected to see the flash that was to come. He held his breath, for there was death in the captain’s eyes, but he did not draw the trigger.
It was Tom that broke the silence. “For God’s sake, don’t shoot, captain,” cried he, from where he stood. The captain did not seem to hear him.
“You mutinous scoundrel,” said he at last, “down on your knees and ask pardon!”