"Carré," said the captain, as I climbed the ladder, "look there! Is that the —— villain?" and pointed over the starboard quarter.
One look was enough for me. I had stared hard enough at that long black hull three days before, while it thrashed us to death with its whirling devilries. And there was no mistaking the splash of red on his foretopsail.
"It's him, captain;" and the ladies wrung their hands, while the men looked deadly grim, and the captain took a black turn along the deck and came back and stood in front of them.
"It's not in an Englishman's heart to give in without a fight," he said gruffly, "and I'm not in the habit of asking any man's advice about my own business, but from what this man says that —— villain over yonder can flay us to pieces at his pleasure and we can't touch him;" and he looked at me.
"That is so," I said.
"If we let him have his way the chances are he'll take all he wants and go. If we fight—My God, how can we fight? We can't reach him. What would you do now? You've been through it once with him," he turned suddenly on me.
"I'd give five years of my life to have a grip of his throat—"
"And how'd you get there under these conditions, my man?"
"You can't do a thing, captain. And anything you try will only make it worse. He'll send you one of his damnable cart-wheels aboard and you'll see the effect. You know how far your carronades will carry."
"Get you below, all of you," he said to his white-faced passengers. "No need to get yourselves killed. He'll probably go for our spars, but when shots are flying you can't tell what'll happen. Stop you with me!" he said to me, and the poop cleared quickly of all outsiders.