"Ahoy the shore!" roared Godby louder than ever, "who's for an honest life, a free pardon and a share in Black Bartlemy's Treasure--or shall it be a broadside? Here be every gun full charged wi' musket-balls--and 'tis point-blank range! Which shall it be?"

Once again rose a murmur that swelled to an angry muttering, and I saw Smiling Sam come creeping from the shadow of the cave.

"O Cap'n," he piped, "'Tis plaguy desperate business, here's some on us like to be bloody corpses--but I'm wi' you, Cap'n Roger, whether or no, 'tis me to your back!"

"To my back, Sammy? Why so you shall, lad, so you shall, but I'll ha' your pistols first, Smiler--so!" And whipping the weapons from the great fellow's belt, Tressady gave them to Abnegation Mings where he lay in the shelter of a rock, and sitting down, crossed long legs and cocked an eye at the heavens.

"Hearties all," quoth he, "the moon sinketh apace and 'twill be ill shooting for 'em in the dark, so with dark 'tis us for the boats--muffled oars--we clap 'em aboard by the forechains larboard and starboard, and the ship is ours, bullies--ours!"

"Well and good, Cap'n!" piped Smiling Sam. "But how if she slip her cable and stand from us--"

"And how shall she, my fool lad, and the wind dropped? The wind's failed 'em and they lie helpless--"

"And that's gospel true, Cap'n. Aye, aye, we'm wi' you! Gi'e us the word, Cap'n!" quoth divers voices in fierce answer.

"O sink me!" groaned Mings, "here lies poor Abnegation shattered alow and aloft--O burn me, here's luck! But you'll take me along, Roger? If Death boards me to-night I'd rayther go in honest fight than lying here like a sick dog--so you'll have me along, Roger?"

"Aye that will I, lad, that will I and--"

"Ahoy the shore!" roared Godby's great voice again, "Let them rogue-dogs as'll turn honest mariners, them as is for England and a free pardon, stand by to come aboard and lively! In ten minutes we open fire wi' every gun as bears!"

Now here there brake forth a clamour of oaths, cries and dismayed questioning: "Lord love us, what now, Cap'n? Is us to be murdered, look'ee? Doomed men we be, lads! Shall us wait to be shot, mates? What shall us do, Cap'n, what shall us do?"

"Lie low!" quoth Tressady, rising, "Bide still all and let no man stir till I give word. In half an hour or less 'twill be black dark--very well, for half an hour I'll hold 'em in parley, I'll speak 'em smooth and mighty friendly, here shall be no shooting. I'll hold 'em till the moon be down--and Smiler shall come wi' me--come, Sammy lad--come!"




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