"Do you hear, my lads?" cried Jarette, loudly. "And when we get in port they'll hand us over as prisoners. What do you--there, I'll say it for you," he continued hastily. "No, no, no! And now listen to me, all you who can hear. You can't sail into port without us, and you are only proposing a truce because you are growing frightened." "Indeed!" said Mr Frewen, coolly. "Yes, indeed, doctor. I know your voice. Now you take my advice--you and those two passengers. Get back to your cabins, and perhaps I'll forgive you. We can come on deck now whenever we like, and we're masters here. If you don't do as I say, look out, for I warn you I can cover all of you with my pistol, and if I couldn't I'd sink the ship before you should hold her again." "Then you refuse to surrender?" cried Mr Frewen. "Harkye, my lads, below there; don't let this madman lead you on to your ruin. Will you surrender?" "Silence below there!" shouted Jarette. "I'll give him his answer. There!" He fired, evidently aiming in the direction of Mr Frewen's voice, for the bullet whizzed over the doctor's head; when, without waiting for orders, Mr Preddle fired back, and his shot was followed by a sharp ejaculation, suggesting that some one had been hit; but directly after we heard a little talking, and several shots were fired at us, but without effect. "There," said Mr Brymer, "we have done our duty by them, we must now do it by ourselves." "If we could only master that one man," said Mr Frewen in the little council of war which followed, "we could manage." "Hadn't you better order the hose to be laid on, Mr Brymer, sir," said Bob Hampton, "and drown 'em out like rats?" "It would be punishing the weak with the guilty and strong, my lad," said Mr Brymer. "I am loth to proceed to extremities." "Werry well then, sir, smoke 'em out as you would rats. I dessay the doctor has got some brimstone." "Yes, I have, Hampton," said Mr Frewen; "but, you see, these are men, not rats." "That's a true word, sir." "You would not like to kill them all in cold blood, my man?" "No, sir, that's a butchery sort o' way; but I'm ready to give 'em a wopses' nest squib to bring 'em to their senses." "Out of their senses, man!" cried Mr Frewen, impatiently. "It means death, I tell you--wholesale murder. The men, I repeat, are not rats." "Well, sir, they're behaving like 'em, and there's no gammon about it now. They're desprit; Jarette's worked 'em up; and they've got the judge to face if we take 'em into port. Strikes me it's our lives or theirn; but you knows best. I was thinking about the young lady." Just then the chopping began again, and Mr Brymer raised his pistol and fired. The chopping ceased, and there was a burst of loud talking. Then all was still for hours, while a careful watch was kept until morning. CHAPTER TWENTY EIGHT.