Tom turned away and obeyed the order, pa.s.sing the American skipper, who was leaning on the bulwark looking sick, and as the sailor came up he turned to him with an ugly leer.

"Guess I'm going to pay yew for that, young man," he said. "I don't let a chap hit me twice for nothing."

"Like to do it now?" said Tom, sharply.

"No; I'm not quite ready, mister. Yew'll know when I am."

"Thankye," said Tom Fillot. "Then now look here; just you let me give you a hint, too. I'm acting as mate to my young officer here, and he takes a good deal o' notice o' what I say. If you don't keep a civil tongue in your head, I'll tell him as you're real dangerous, and that the best thing he can do is to have some o' them irons clapped on your arms and legs, and then shove you below along with your men."

"What!" cried the skipper, fiercely; "put me in irons! Me, an Amurrican citizen. I should like to see him do it!"

"You soon shall," said Tom, "if you don't mind. Now then, get down into that boat."

"Who are yew ordering about, sir?"

"You," cried Tom. "Now then, once more, get down into that boat."

The skipper turned to walk away, but Tom's temper was getting hot, and without a moment's hesitation he seized the man by the collar and waistband, thrust him to the side, and jerked him out of the gangway.

"Ketch hold!" he shouted, and the man in charge of the boat caught hold and dragged the skipper down into the boat just as the other was rowed alongside.

The skipper started up to revenge himself, and then sat down again to brood over the affront, while, as rapidly as they could be transferred, two more men were thrust into the same boat with him, and the rest into the other boat, the fellows looking fierce, and ready for a fresh attempt to recapture their schooner. But the arms of the English sailors, and the fierce readiness of the blacks, Soup and Taters, awed them, especially as their skipper made no sign, and a quarter of an hour later captain and men were safely fastened in the forecastle, with Soup now as sentry--Taters having been sent on board the second schooner to see to the freed slaves, with another man to help him. Then a hawser was made fast and sail set, the first schooner towing the second fairly well, and some knots were sailed toward the north before the position of the sun suggested to Mark that an anxious time was coming. For if an attempt were made to turn the tables upon them, it would for certain be that night.

However, Mark went on with his preparations. The blacks on both ships were fed, every precaution taken, and, giving up all idea of sleep for that night, a well-armed watch was set, and he paced the deck, feeling quite an old man with his responsibility. He asked himself whether there was anything he had left undone, whether the tow-line would hold, and a score of other questions, while all above was calmness, and the great stars glittered and shone down from the purply black sky.

"Are we to have a peaceful night?" he thought, as he looked over the schooner's counter at the dark silent vessel towed behind.

Tom Fillot gave him the answer, by running aft to him, his bare feet making a soft _pad_ _pad_ upon the deck.

"Got your shooter, sir?" he whispered.

"Yes."

"Loaded?"

"Of course; but why do you ask?" cried Mark, excitedly.

"The game has begun, sir. It will have to be the irons, after all."

Almost as he spoke there was a flash and the report of a pistol, fired from the forecastle hatch.

CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.

TOM FILLOT ADVISES.

There was a fierce howl of rage and a heavy crash from forward as Mark drew and c.o.c.ked his pistol, running toward the hatch with Tom Fillot into the foul smelling smoke that hung around, in the midst of which stood the great black, whirling the capstan bar with which he was armed about his head, after delivering a crushing blow at someone who had tried to climb out, and then dropped back groaning, but not much injured, fortunately for him, the princ.i.p.al force of the blow having fallen upon the woodwork of the hatchway.

As the black saw them he uttered a low, savage roar, and pointed to his shoulder, which had been grazed by a pistol ball, the smarting making the great fellow grin with rage and roll his eyes.

"Hi, below there!" cried Mark, the excitement making him forget all danger. "Hand up that pistol and any other weapons you have, or we'll fire down among you."

The answer was a flash, a sharp report, and a puff of smoke, Mark being conscious of a whizzing sound close by one ear.

"You scoundrels!" he cried, pa.s.sionately. "Surrender; do you hear?"

"Not we," came in a familiar voice. "S'render yourselves. You're not Queen's officers, only pirates, and I'm going to retake my ship."

"If that pistol is not thrown out on the deck, sir, I give the orders to fire," cried Mark.

"That's jist what you darn't do, mister," said the American skipper.

"Let 'em have it, sir," whispered Tom Fillot, excitedly.

But Mark felt as if the skipper's words were correct, and that he dare not fire down into that cabin to the destruction of some poor wretch's life, so he did not--to use Tom Fillot's expression--"Let 'em have it,"

but gave orders sharply in the way of defence, and not attack.

"Clap on the hatch, Tom," he shouted; and the covering, which had been forced off in some way, was thrust back and held down for a moment or two, before Tom leaped away as a shot crashed through, and the hatch was driven off once more.

By this time the rest of the men were gathered round, and it was just as well, for a daring attempt was made to climb on deck, but only for each man who attempted the feat to be sent down again by a blow on head or shoulder.

"If you'd give orders, sir," said Tom, "we'd soon have that hatch over again, and fifty fathom o' chain cable piled atop."

"I don't like risking you men's lives," said Mark; "but there's no going back now; it must be done."

"Come on, d.i.c.k Bannock," cried Tom Fillot, rolling up his sleeves. "You chaps stand by with the end of that cable."

Another shot was fired from the forecastle, and directly after the muzzle of a pistol appeared over the side with a hand directing it, when _bang_, _crash_--down came Soup's capstan bar, striking pistol and hand with such good effect that they were s.n.a.t.c.hed back, and a burst of fierce oaths came up.

"Well done, my lad!" cried Mark; and the black looked at him and showed his white teeth as he stood watchful, and ready, with the bar raised for another blow.

By this time the men had laid hold of the end of the cable and drawn some two or three fathoms up from the little forward compartment, while Tom Fillot and Bannock seized the loose hatch ready to clap on.

"No, no," cried Mark, hastily; "don't expose yourselves needlessly, my lads. Lie down and crawl toward the hatchway, pushing the cable before you."

"Thought you'd fancy we were cowardly, sir," said Tom, obeying his orders.

"Then don't think so again, sir," cried Mark, who wondered at his own sharpness and authoritative way. "Now then, stand by all. Ready?"

"Ay, ay, sir."

"Hah! look-out!"

_Crash_.

"Well done, my lad."

This was as a pistol was once more thrust out, and the hand which held it appeared ready for Soup to hit at, which he did, and missed. But, all the same, the hand and pistol disappeared, and the next minute Tom and d.i.c.k, one on each side, thrust the cover over the hatch as they crawled forward, Tom flinging himself across it, while the rest of the men hauled away, and began to pile on the chain cable.