“Do you think it likely, sir, that we may meet with any of the rascals?” asked Sam.
“Not at all unlikely,” replied the captain, fixing his glass and putting it to his eye, “though I don’t think it likely that we shall be attacked, as we are large and don’t look like a richly freighted merchant-man. However, there is no saying. These scoundrels fear nothing, and when hard up will attack anything but a man-of-war, I half suspect that I am looking at one of them now.”
This latter announcement, calmly uttered, threw all who heard it into quite a flutter of excitement.
The captain was a big, dark-skinned, bearded man, with a quiet, half-humorous, half-sarcastic expression of countenance.
“Do you really think it is a pirate?” asked Robin, eagerly.
“I really do,” replied the captain, “and I fear we may have to run out of our course to avoid her. You see, I am a man of peace, and abhor bloodshed, therefore I won’t fight if I can help it.”
Saying this he gave orders to have the course of the steamer changed.
Just then there occurred one of those contretemps which don’t often happen, but which, when they do, are often prolific of disaster; an important part of the machinery broke down, and the engine, for the moment, was rendered useless. It was most unfortunate, for the suspicious craft lay to windward, and a light breeze was blowing carried it steadily towards them, although all the sail the steamer possessed was crowded on her.
“Come aft here, Mr Shipton, and tell your chief to come with you. I want to hold a council of war,” said the captain.
Summoning the first mate and chief engineer, as well as the electricians, the captain went to the after part of the quarter-deck, where, seated on the taffrail, he deliberated with the extemporised council measures for repelling an expected attack.