“Stave my quarter!” roared the captain, detaining him as he was about to rush aft. “The leak's stopped, lad; but blow me if ever I hear'd anything to beat this 'ere yarn o' your'n, so spin us the rest on it.”
“That's soon done,” resumed Jack. “When I found the fellow wouldn't give me a fair show, I boarded him, captain, and treated him to a few inches of cold steel. He won't trouble us again, I reckon!”
Scarcely had he finished speaking when Don gripped his arm and pointed to where, a dozen yards away, the bottom of the canoe glistened in the moonlight. A dark object had suddenly appeared alongside the overturned skiff. Presently a surging splash was heard.
“Shiver my keelson if he ain't righted the craft!” roared the captain, snatching up one of the muskets as the lascar was seen to scramble into the canoe and paddle slowly away.
Don laid a quick hand upon the old sailor's arm.
“Let the beggar go,” said he. “He'll never reach land with that knife in him.”
“Maybe not, lad,” replied the captain, shaking off the hold upon his arm and taking the best aim he could, considering the motion of the boat. “Bloodshed's best awoided, says you. Wery good; all' the best way to awoid it, d'ye mind me, is to send yon warmint to Davy Jones straight away. Consequential, the quality o' marcy shan't be strained on this 'ere occasion, as the whale says when he swallied the school o' codlings.” And with that he fired.
The lascar was seen to discontinue the use of his paddle for a moment, and then to make off faster than before.
The old sailor's face fell.
“Spike my guns, I've gone and missed the warmint!” said he. “Howsomedever, we'll meet again, as the shark's lower jaw says to the upper 'un when they parted company to accomidate the sailor. An' blow me, lads, here comes the wind!