“Yes, don’t let ’em get away, Bill,” Drake shouted, climbing to his feet and regaining his full senses. “I want ’em. Particularly that fleabitten rat who gave me the boots. Lash ’em up and get ’em together. Quick! The ship may sink under us at any time.”
Both he and Catlin ran here and there to bring matters to a conclusion, and within a few minutes there were seven somewhat bruised and battered ruffians thrown into the nearest cabins and, despite their protestations and appeals, locked in. Their leader, who time and again shouted that he was the second mate of the Rhodialim, was the first to whine for mercy. He cried, in comprehensible English:
“You hell of an Ingleeshmans tie us up and put us here to drown. You let us go we make no more of the fights. We go quiet. But capitano, please, sir, not drown us.”
“Drown nothing!” Drake growled. “If we see that we can’t save the ship, we’ll bring you up and turn you loose in your boat, you damn pirates! And listen here! You keep quiet now. We’ve got no more time to waste on you.” He turned to Catlin and said: “Lock ’em in. We’ve got to fall to, if we want to keep this craft afloat.”
They hastily ran out to the deck just in time to hear Giles, the second mate, calling:
“Ship’s coming, sir. Shall I flash a light for ’em, or hail?”
Drake himself cupped his hands and called: “Malabart, ahoy! This way!” When he got a response, he ran back to where he had fallen, struck a match, found his electric torch that had fallen from his pocket, and with it as a beacon, directed the Malabart to come alongside.
He called for Beltramo to come aboard to point out the location of the sea cocks, and for the collision mats to be put across. He set lookouts to guard against the possibility of other boarders, and himself took a hand at the work.
“If the others haven’t heard the row, it’s not likely they’ll come back,” he said. “But we’ll take no chances; we’ll keep as quiet as possible, just to avoid any more risks of interference. Move lively now!”
The men of the Malabart ran here and there, their bare feet pattering, and pulled and hauled a huge, unwieldy mat to the outward side. Then they ran its looped lines forward and under the ship’s hull. The Malabart sheered off to give play, and the men fell to the lines, heaving and tugging, as the mat went over the side and submerged itself at the point indicated by Beltramo. Throughout their work, running, and pulling, and hauling, that same air of noiselessness, of low-spoken orders, was maintained. In the same muffled silence, filled only with sounds of movement, the other mat was fixed on the starboard side and drawn taut, and the officers, listening intently down the hatchway, were encouraged when the sounds of swirling and gurgling were no longer audible.