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Parrish, Randall, 1858-1923

"Gordon Craig Soldier of Fortune"

They outnumber us
three to one. Marston, you and Simms take the stoke hold and the
forecastle. Keep those fellows below down with your revolvers. Shoot
if you need to. The rest of you stick close to me. All clear, lads?"
"Aye, aye, sir," returned the muffled voices from beneath the canvas.
I unshipped the rudder, letting it disappear noiselessly beneath the
waves, and the boat's head swung slowly around, and we drifted
helplessly, the jib flapping. With our eyes on the approaching vessel
we remained motionless in the stern, our hands clasped. The flush had
faded from out her cheeks, yet once she turned toward me and smiled.
Forward not so much as the twitch of a muscle revealed any other
presence in the boat, the only visible thing a jumble of ropes and
canvas, apparently dragged hastily from the water by inexperienced
hands. The waves tossed us about so that any seaman would recognize
instantly our predicament. The manner in which the jaunty _Sea Gull_
bore down upon us was proof that those on board had already grasped the
situation, and had no remaining suspicion of treachery. She was under
steam, with no sail set, and the rapidly increasing light gave me a
fairly clear view. In low monotone, without turning my head, I managed
to convey my observations to the motionless officer.


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