"Yes," said Jenks, "you men don't want to make a Kilkenny cat go out of this ship. Do the square an' fair thing, an' git out. You know, Tommy," he went on, addressing a sailor, "I don't want to hurt you; but you know me. You boys can't make no show agin an old man-o'-war's man like me, as has been up to his waist in blood many a time, an' never ware the worse for it."
The sailor addressed spoke to me.
"Don't you think it a good way, sir? They are good for us if they try hard, for England can whip any three of us, an' I, for one, don't want to run against him if it can be helped. We have a boat."
"Nonsense," said Chips. "We must take 'em."
I thought a moment. There was a young girl below. Probably she was even now frightened nearly to death. If anything did go wrong with us,—and it certainly looked as if it would, when I sized up that crowd,—she would be worse than dead. There were seven of us left against six, although Andrews was too badly hurt to fear, but they were much better men physically. After they had once started to do for us, they were not the kind who would stick at anything. I was much exhausted, myself, and while I thought the matter over, it seemed as though to go were the better way out of the trouble.
Chips, however, insisted on closing with the men.
It took me some minutes to convince him that the young fellows with us were not of the kind to depend on in such a fracas, and that he would be in a bad way should he tackle England alone. Journegan, Jenks, and Dalton were all powerful men, armed with sheath-knives sharper and better than our own, for they had evidently prepared for just such an emergency.
"Let Dalton provision the whale-boat, and you men get out," said Mr. Bell after I had finished whispering my views to Chips.
"Yes," said the steward; "you men stay where you are, and I'll put the stuff aboard for you, and then you can get out."
"All right," I answered; "go ahead."