"Hurray!" shouted Mark's little party, as they drove the crew below in the forecastle; and after a guard was set, Tom Fillot came back to his officer, who stood talking to the American, while that worthy lit himself a cigar. "This is some dollars out o' my pocket, mister," he said. "Guess I wish that thar nigger had been drowned afore you brought him here. What air yew going to dew now?" That was a question Mark was not prepared to answer, with two prizes on his hands. CHAPTER TWENTY SEVEN. "A LAST RESOURCE." But Mark Vandean soon began to show the American slaving skipper what he meant to "dew now," and that in times of emergency he did not mean to talk much. For turning to Tom Fillot, he gave his orders respecting the slaver's crew. "Keep them below in the forecastle," he said; "and place the second black over them as guard." "Ay, ay, sir!" cried Tom, and he proceeded to plant Taters on guard over the hatch, armed with a drawn cutlass, to the black's intense satisfaction. "Here, I say, mister," cried the skipper, "yew ain't going to put a nigger as sentry over a crew o' white men, air yew?" "I have done it," said Mark, sharply. "What! going to keep them free American citizens prisoners below like a pack o' niggers?" "Why not?" said Mark. "Do you think I'm going to let you and your men hatch up a scheme to retake this schooner?" The man laughed. "Guess yew're a sharp one, squaire. Wall, what are you going to do with me?" "Take you aboard my ship, sir." "And hang me at the yardarm, squaire?" said the skipper, with a grin. "Not if you behave yourself," said Mark; "but I warn you not to try any tricks, sir, or matters may turn out unpleasantly. Here, Soup!" He made a sign, and the great broad-shouldered black ran up to him eagerly. "Here, my lad," said Mark, signing to the man what to do; "draw your cutlass and take this gentleman on board the other schooner. You'll keep guard over him till I come." Soup whipped out his cutlass, caught the American skipper by the arm, and there was a tremendous yell. "Say, mister, yew didn't tell him to kill me." "No, no, Soup, you don't understand," cried Mark, arresting the man, for he had evidently taken it that he was to play the part of executioner upon the white skipper; while to judge from his aspect, he was prepared to perform his part with great gusto. Then making the men understand, he was about to despatch them over the side in one of the boats, when the American turned obstinate. "Look here, squaire," he said, "I give in, but yew're an officer and I'm an officer. Play fair with a man. That nigger'll kill me sure as a gun if I go along with him. Seems to me I shan't be safe 'less I'm along o' you, so I guess I'll stop here." Mark was about to insist, but a glance at Soup was sufficient to alter his mind. "Very well, stop for the present, sir, till I go back aboard." "Yew're going back, then?" said the American, with a flash of the eye.