“Great heavens!” exclaimed one of the merchants in consternation. “Pirates in the English Channel! Bless my soul, never!”
Before Captain Baxter could gain the foot of the companion-ladder a figure stepped into the cabin.
“Who are you, and what are you doing aboard my vessel?” roared the captain, reaching for a cutlass that hung from one of the berths that lined the sides.
“Hold! not so fast, my friend,” was the quiet answer. “Sure, it’s much better to take no unnecessary trouble. And my advice to you is to be as quiet as a mouse.”
As he spoke, Conyngham shifted his hand to the butt of a pistol that protruded from under his long blue coat.
Though his words were lightly spoken, the Englishman saw a dangerous gleam in the captain’s dark eyes, and stood still, muttering.
“Are you a pirate?” he demanded, hoarsely, at last.
“Far from that,” answered Conyngham, smiling and advancing farther into the little space. “If the gentlemen will seat themselves, I shall be glad to inform you of the circumstances. You are prisoners of the American cruiser Surprise, that I have the honor to command. But you need fear nothing, I assure you.”
A score of men poured over the bows.