“Hold on!” I cried. “It’s Mr. Gull and his men.”
“Mr.--what?” he asked, peering over. “Sink me, if it ain’t! What’s the matter below there? D’ye want any help?”
At that moment a shadow shot out of the gloom, and we saw a boat swing quickly alongside of the one already fast to us.
“Now, then, cut loose there,” drawled the voice of the long skipper, and instantly the blackness was streaked with flashes, as the weapons rang out.
Then some of our men began clambering aboard by the painter in the mizzen, while Hawkson roared and fired his pistol at the new boat.
Bawling for men to follow, we slid down the lines still trailing over the stern, but, before we could reach the boat beneath, it was pulled from under us, and then we were left hanging over the black water. By the time Hawkson and I climbed back on deck, the scuffle below had ceased, and the long skipper was bawling out a hoarse farewell from the darkness seaward, and being answered by Mr. Gull from his boat in fitting terms.
When lanterns were brought out, it was seen that several of our men were seriously hurt, and lay upon the pile of provisions in the boat. The chest had disappeared, and was evidently in the possession of the skipper of the Yankee brig. At this, Hawkson plunged below, and came up a few minutes later with the news that the barque’s treasure-chest was missing, and that she must consequently be made ready for sea at once.
The affair was now perfectly plain. Our men were nearly all ashore, and it was impossible to get them before morning. The long skipper had put a couple of men in the chest, sent them aboard, and they had worked the treasure-chest on deck, mistaking Mr. Gull’s boat for their own, which they had evidently arranged to have on hand at the appointed time. But for the last part of the game, everything would have gone quietly. The empty slop-chest, with its large lock, was the only evidence, besides some wounded men, to show that we had been boarded and robbed in the most approved pirate fashion.
We stood about, gazing at the empty chest with its lock, which was put on to guard against inquisitive persons opening it before the men within desired to come out. Forgetting entirely that we were within the sacred precincts of the captain’s cabin, Hawkson stood gazing at the affair lying open before him, swearing at the tricky skipper who had so easily hoodwinked him, and apparently lost as to the best method of regaining the chest.
Suddenly the sound of voices came down the companion, and the noise of a boat bumping alongside. He sprang to the poop, cutlass in hand, ready-to repel boarders, and the rest followed in his wake, all armed now and in a temper for business.