"Who are you?" asked the man, spitting over the rail. "Go away—I don't know you."
"Run alongside—we'll jump her," I said to the skipper. The messenger, Smith, and myself drew our revolvers, and stood ready as the small craft came up to the main channels. The schooner kept right along. We sprang aboard without meeting resistance, and gained the deck.
"Where're your passengers? Don't fool with us," I snapped. "There's an old man and a young one dressed as a woman."
"Oh, Doctor Jackson and the young feller—they're down below—asleep. What do you want with them?"
We wasted no time talking. All three jumped down the companionway and into the little cabin. Doctor Jackson was in a bunk, apparently fast asleep, and a young man, whom I instantly recognized as the "wife," lay reclining upon a transom.
"Well, what's the row—what's up?" asked the young fellow, rising at the sight of three armed men.
"We want you—you know what for," said the messenger quietly. "Don't make any trouble—we won't stand it—come right along back with us, you and the other fellow there."
The doctor awoke, and sat up, seemingly amazed. He expostulated, was dumfounded at the charge, couldn't understand it—we must all be crazy. Two men came from forward and joined our group. It was all hands, just three men and two passengers—five in all to work the ship.
"Stop the engine," I ordered, "and either come with us or turn the schooner back, and we'll go with you."