“You’re making a huge mistake of some sort, gentlemen!” protested the vessel’s master, tremulously.

“Marines, lay aboard,” thundered Eph.  “Take the deck, Corporal.  Round up all the crew you see, and make ’em stand at attention along one of the seams of the deck!  Sailors aboard, you down any man who tries to block or balk you.  Lively, now!  I’ve seen this master in Cobtown, and I’ll take my oath this is the ‘Juanita’ with a pieced-out, false stern and a faked third mast!”

“We hold you responsible for the deck, Corporal,” spoke Jack, in a low tone to the noncommissioned officer of marines.  “We’re going to take the sailors and go below.”

A rush was made for the companionway leading down into the schooner’s cabin.  A man’s white, scared face showed below, for a moment.

“Hurrah!” yelled Eph Somers, drawing his sword and making a bound below “There’s Brother Gray.  Oh, we’ve the right boat—­and the right crowd, too!”

CHAPTER XVI

THE DUEL THROUGH THE DOOR

Bang!

A stateroom door closed just before the two young officers reached it.

Click!  That told the story of a bolt shot into place.

“You may as well open!” called Jack, coolly.  “We have ample force for breaking down that door!”

Crack!  In that confined space the discharge of a pistol sounded almost deafening.  A line of red shot through the stateroom door.  The bullet from the weapon whizzed between Jack Benson and Eph Somers, the missile burying itself in wood across the passage.

Crack!  Crack!

With that desperate fellow the other side of the door, shooting through the key-hole, it was worse than folly to remain in line of range.

Yet Jack and Eph retorted coolly, with the dignity of officers.

“My man,” requested Lieutenant Jack, turning to one of the sailors, “hand me your revolver.”

Taking the weapon, Benson glanced at it a second or two, then raised the weapon, sighting for the top of the stateroom door.

Bang!  The shot that Jack fired sent a bullet crashing through the door close to the upper framework.

“You see, Gray!” Jack called coolly, “we’re armed, too, and in overpowering numbers.  Resistance is worse than foolish.”

Bang! came the hostile answer.

This shot was fired through one of the panels of the stateroom door—­fired at an angle, too.

Plainly the shot was intended to hit the young naval lieutenant.  It passed Benson’s right side by a margin of barely two inches.

“Pass me another revolver,” whispered Benson, in the stillness that followed.

All through the day and evening these seamen, though outwardly respectful, and wholly well disciplined, had cherished a great deal of amusement over their boyish officers.

Now, however, these bronzed men of the deep beheld Benson and Somers at work in a manner worthy of any product of Annapolis.