To the officer’s surprise, for he was well aware that there were no weapons on board the Lockyer that night, each figure held in its hand a gleaming object, apparently a pistol. They held them leveled at the crew, whose demoralization was now complete. Some of them beat a retreat into the little cabin astern, among them the fellow who had been at the wheel. Her helm deserted, the little schooner came up into the wind with a great flapping of canvas, fell off again, came up once more, and so on for several minutes.
Two men alone offered any resistance. One of these was the man who had been about to fire at the submarine’s crew when he had perceived her hauling alongside. His valor vanished, however, when he saw the gleaming weapons of the attacking party.
“You’ve got us,” he said; “I’ll throw up my hands.”
“You are a wise man,” remarked the officer dryly. “Strong, oblige me by tying up that fellow. Now then, sir, how about you?”
Putting the question in a ferocious voice, the officer whipped round on the other man who had seemed prepared to put up a fight. He was a short, squat man, with a bunch of iron-gray whiskers on his chin. His little eyes glittered savagely, but he, like his comrade, saw that it was no use to resist.
“Reckon you kin tie me, too,” he said. “You’ve got us dead to rights.”
CHAPTER XI.
CHANNING LOCKYER FILES A MESSAGE.
In the meantime, the other fellow had been looking over the side while Ned tied his hands fast.