"Shut up!" Master Blythe ordered curtly and waved his pistol. The Newport seaman came running down the dock. They gathered around Master Blythe and his prisoner.
Old Ben lifted his pistol and nodded at the captive. "Shall I brain him?"
"No! I need him," Master Blythe said. "Into a longboat men! Look sharp! We'll pay the Scorpion a visit!"
The ape-armed seaman whistled.
Master Blythe turned on him. "You left it up to me—but there's still time to clear away."
"No, cap'n," the ape-armed seaman grunted, "I like's to row in the moonlight! But every man aboard the Scorpion will be on deck—they'll be lookin' for fires in the town."
"Yes," Master Blythe said, "but get an oar in your hands!"
Master Blythe sat in the stern with the sentry at his side. The Newport seamen pulled with a will. The longboat hissed over the water. Old Ben, facing Master Blythe, grunted between strokes. "Cap'n. . . thought you. . . couldn't take a. . . ship. . . without. . . cannon!"
Master Blythe smiled. "No time for cannon, Ben. Besides I'd like to see Peter Hemp!" The low rakish stern of the Scorpion loomed ahead, Master Blythe lifted the pistol in his lap and shoved the muzzle into the sentry's side. "When they hail us, you make reply! One slip, sailor, and I'll shoot a very neat hole through you!"
The port side of the Scorpion faced the town. Master Blythe directed the longboat under the starboard rail. The watch sent a surprised hail across the water. "Boat, Ahoy!"
Master Blythe prodded his prisoner's ribs. "Give 'em a true answer!"
Heads popped over the starboard rail. The breathless Newport seamen leaned on their oars. The longboat coasted under the frowning muzzles of the Scorpion's cannon. An action lantern near the quarterdeck cast a strange and sickly light on the water.
Master Blythe's prisoner sucked in a sullen breath and flinched as the pistol nudged hard. "Lieutenant Graft's boat! Bringing a prisoner!"
"So you got him, eh?" the jubilant watch called. "We didn't think you'd be back so quick!"
"Neither did I!"
Master Blythe choked. He rammed his pistol into the seaman's ribs. "If that's a tip off. . ."
"It ain't, sir," the sentry whined, "Gawd, no, it ain't!"
A harsh laugh echoed from the Scorpion's deck. "Bring the dirty little rebel aboard!"
"I'll be right up," Master Blythe whispered. "Ease her into the Jacob's Ladder, boys, and follow me!"
Master Blythe loosened his small sword in the scabbard, tucked a pistol into his buttoned coat and grasped the other pistol firmly. He would need to be firm about this business: there were about forty men aboard the Scorpion and they'd fight like fiends.
The Newport seamen shipped their oars. The ladder was under Master Blythe's left hand. The longboat bumped the fender. Then Master Blythe clambered swiftly up the ladder, a good deal faster than he would have gone up the side of his own brig!
Master Blythe looked up. The face above him gaped with surprise. Master Blythe did not have time to be surprised. He was moving too fast. He swung his right arm up and over.
