u cannot manage."

"Lookye here, sir, I'm going to have a talk to old Taters, and I shall
give him a capstan bar to use, instead of the cutlash. I don't
understand his lingo, but him and me can get on, and I can make him see
what I want; and after that it won't be safe for any man o' the Yankee
crew to put his head above the combings of that hatch. You trust me,
sir, to manage. Dick Bannock'll be quite as good as me if you appynt
him mate. Get back aboard, and make sail, and we'll follow steady like
in your wake."

"But the blacks we have set free?"

"Taters and me'll manage them, sir, and 'fore many hours are up, we'll
have two or three on 'em good at pulling a rope. You won't make much
sail, sir, of course, now?"

"As little as I can, Tom; just as much as we can manage. Then now I'll
get back, and the sooner we can set eyes on the _Nautilus_ the better."

"So say I, sir. But you keep a good heart, sir, and above all things
don't you trust Mr Yankee Skipper, sir."

Mark gave the sailor a meaning look.

"That's right, sir, and above all things mind he don't get hold o' no
pistols."

Mark laughed, and after a few instructions he ordered the American into
the boat; his men followed, and he was about to step down too, when
there was a yell forward, and the sound of a heavy blow or chop.

Mark faced round in time to see that Taters had struck at one of the
American sailors, but missed him, his cutlass coming in contact with the
edge of the hatch, and the next moment there was a desperate struggle
going on. The second schooner's crew were forcing their way up on deck,
and as Mark called up the men from the boat to help quell the attempt,
the American skipper took advantage of his being for the moment
unwatched, and climbed on deck once more to make a rush to help his men.

But quick as he was, Tom Fillot was quicker; and turning sharply round,
he struck out with his double fist, catching the American right in the
centre of his forehead, with the result mathematical that two moving
bodies meeting fly off at a tangent.

The American skipper's head flew off at a tangent, and then he rolled
heavily on the deck, while in less than five minutes, with the help of
Soup and Taters, who fought fiercely, the American crew were beaten
back, and driven or tumbled down into the forecastle one after the
other.

"Hi! yew, don't shut down that there hatch," cried one of the men;
"yew'll smother us."

"And a good job