“Oh, you mustn’t mind what the bo’sun says,” observed the skipper. “He’s chock full of the old superstitions of the sea, and makes mountains out of molehills.”
“The deuce! he’s not far wrong about the Saint Pierre, though, for if ever a ship had the devil aboard, I’m sure she has, in the shape of that villainous black ‘marquis’!”
“Then the sooner the better for us to see about ‘Scotching’ your de’il,” cried the skipper with a laugh that meant business, I knew. “I’m now going to call the hands aft and prepare for the fight, and they shall have it hot, I can tell you,” said he.
“Have you got arms enough for them, sir? Those rascals will make a stubborn resistance, and there’s a big lot of them still left in the ship, remember!”
The skipper laughed outright at this.
“Lord bless you, colonel!” said he, “the steamers of our line are fitted out in their way very like men-of-war; and I have enough rifles and cutlasses in the arm chest below to rig out more than twice the number of the crew we carry, besides revolvers for all the officers. This, however, will be short and sharp work, as we’re going to run your black devils by the beard; so I shall only serve out cutlasses.”
“But you’ll spare me a revolver, Señor Applegarth? I left mine, as you are aware, behind me,” said he with a smile, “and I should like to have another shot or two at my friend, the ‘marquis’!”
“Aye, aye, colonel, you shall have one, and a good one too, and so shall all those who know how to use a pistol properly; but, for close hand-to-hand fighting, I prefer cold steel myself.”
Colonel Vereker joined in the skipper’s grim chuckle, which suited his mood well.
“Yes, sir, that’s true,” he rejoined; “but a revolver isn’t to be sneezed at, all the same!”