“Who are you?” asked one of the startled men.
“Never mind that,” said Ethan. “Shamus, tie them up.”
The grim dragoon stuck his pistol in his belt: with the keen edge of his cutlass he cut some ropes, and in a few moments both men were securely lashed to the mainmast, back to back.
“A piece of sail cloth would do for a gag,” said Ethan.
“And here is just the thing,” said Longsword as he picked up a topsail, apparently used as a tarpaulin. He cut some broad strips from this; and despite the protests of the seamen, these were bound tightly over their mouths.
“Keep a watch over them,” said Ethan to his companion, after all was finished.
“Below. I think I’ll treat the commander of the schooner to a small surprise.”
Longsword made no comment, though his face, had Ethan been able to see it, took on an anxious expression. The youthful American advanced, pistol and hanger in hand, to the companionway. A glimmer attracted his attention, and looking down through a small open skylight he saw two men at the cabin table, engaged in an earnest conversation.
The capture of the watch had been accomplished with almost no noise, so the two below were unconscious of what had taken place.
Softly Ethan descended the companion ladder and reached the cabin door. He paused a moment listening, and heard one of the men say,
“I tell you, Blake, it is growing desperate. British shipping is in the greatest danger. That rascal Paul Jones is a menace to the entire coast. The Drake is out after him, and I hope she comes up with him soon.”
“You may be correct,” said the second voice, “but my opinion, Captain Spencer, is that there is not a Yankee nearer to us this minute than the coast of France.”
The door opened at that exact moment, and the stalwart form of Ethan Carlyle stood before them, his pistol pointed at their heads and his hanger ready in his hand.
“You are wrong in that, sir,” remarked the lad coolly; “for here is one at your side.”
“What does this mean?” exclaimed Captain Spencer, leaping up.
“It means that you are my prisoners,” observed Ethan, in an even tone. “Sit down and don’t become excited. It will do no good.”
[Illustration:_ETHAN CARLYLE STOOD BEFORE THEM_]
“Draw, Blake,” roared the schooner’s captain, as he flashed out his blade. But he had scarcely lifted it when the sword of the young American swept downward like a flash and knocked it from his hand; then a blow from the flat of the weapon sent him back against the cabin wall.