“Turn round and sit down on the ladder,” said Harrington, standing on the deck of the cuddy.
The man obeyed, and in the flash of purple lightning that came at that instant, sat livid, with glaring eyes, palsied with terror.
Harrington stuck his pistol between the buttoned lapels of his coat, clutched the man’s thigh with one hand, thus pinning him to the seat, and held out the other hand to him.
“Give me your knife,” he said, imperatively.
“You’re not going to murder me,” gasped the sailor.
“No,” said Harrington, curtly.
The man panted hard, and gave him the knife. Still holding him by the thigh, Harrington grasped the ladder with the hand in which he held the knife, put one foot on the lower step, drew the boat round broadside to with the other, and bore heavily on the gunnel.
“What are ye doin’?” stammered the sailor. “She’s takin’ in water with your bearin’ on her.”
“I am capsizing your boat so that you can’t follow me,” coolly replied Harrington, amidst the gurgling rush of the water with which the boat was nearly full.
The man stared, breathing hard and trembling. Presently the boat toppled softly and slowly over and her masts splashed on the water. Harrington at once cut the rope which secured her, and she began to recede on the weltering swells.