There was no answer although the ring widened under the threat of my eyes, and I met sullen faces here and there.  I was in no mood to take chances.

“Carlson,” I said, glancing back at him.  “You know all these men?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Pick out those you can trust, and have them stand over there to the right.  Call them out by name; be lively now.”

They stepped forth eagerly enough, and ranged themselves before the bunks, the faces mostly those of northern Europe, although a negro or two was among them.  As the Swede ceased calling, six or seven yet remained clustered in front of me, a motley lot, one of them an Indian, the others mostly half-breeds.  I glanced from face to face inquiringly.

“How about it, you?” I asked.  “Are there any more of you fellows who take a chance with us?  This is my last offer?”

“What’s the game?” asked a sullen voice in English, and a bearded fellow burned black, pushed his way to the front.  I had not noted his presence before, but instantly recognized his character.

“Are you English?”

“No; I used ter be Scotch; now I’m damned if I know what I am.  One flag is as good as another ter me—­only I want to know what sorter game I’m playin’ in.  Who the hell are yer?  An’ whar’d yer cum frum?”

“I am an English seaman,” I answered shortly, “and how I came aboard makes no difference.  Right now I am the only navigator on the Namur.”

“What’s happened ter Estada?”

“He’s dead—­knifed last night by one of the buccaneers.  Manuel Estevan had a hand in the business, and he’s safely locked in a stateroom aft.  Captain Sanchez is wounded and helpless, and those cut-throats amidships are battened down below hatches.  LeVere and I are the officers left, and we control the deck.  We had to fight it out, or likely it would be our turn next.”

“Yer mean those fellers were aimin’ ter take the ship?”

“Exactly that; now where are you lads?  With Manuel and his bunch of pirates?  Or with us?”

“What er yer going ter do with us, an’ this ship?  That’s the fu’st question.”

I had not decided that even in my own mind, but the answer came promptly enough, as my eyes swept the faces fronting me.

“What’s your name?”

“Ben MacClintock.”

“Well, MacClintock.  I am going to leave that to the crew.  As soon as we have all secure, I’ll have every man on deck, and then we’ll talk it over.  That’s fair enough isn’t it?”

“It looks fair.  Come on, mates; I’m fer the Englishman.”

Only one followed him, however, a sheep-faced boy; the others remained sullen, and defiant.  Likely enough they failed to understand what had been said, but I had no further time to waste in explanations.  I glanced up at Carter’s face framed in the scuttle hole.

“Your guard there?”

“Ay, ay, sir.”

“Pass these men up and take them forward with the others.  Turn them over to Watkins.  Then come back here, and report to me.”