The men of the Columbus were drawn up separate. The
officers stepped out into the midst of the three parties, and spoke so as
all might hear. Captain Carton was the officer in command, and he had a
spy-glass in his hand. His coxswain stood by him with another spy-glass,
and with a slate on which he seemed to have been taking down signals.
"Now, men!" says Captain Carton; "I have to let you know, for your
satisfaction: Firstly, that there are ten pirate-boats, strongly manned
and armed, lying hidden up a creek yonder on the coast, under the
overhanging branches of the dense trees. Secondly, that they will
certainly come out this night when the moon rises, on a pillaging and
murdering expedition, of which some part of the mainland is the object.
Thirdly--don't cheer, men!--that we will give chace, and, if we can get
at them, rid the world of them, please God!"
Nobody spoke, that I heard, and nobody moved, that I saw. Yet there was
a kind of ring, as if every man answered and approved with the best blood
that was inside of him.
"Sir," says Captain Maryon, "I beg to volunteer on this service, with my
boats. My people volunteer, to the ship's boys."
"In His Majesty's name and service," the other answers, touching his hat,
"I accept your aid with pleasure.
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