In Search of an Unknown Race — page 226: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

218 VAN. rail. His sinewy hands clutched a rifle which Captain Peterson recognized at a glance, and by way of empha: sizing his command, Smith cocked the rifle and threw it to his shoulder in an unpleasantly suggestive manner, ‘Ease rowing—back water,” said the captain in a2 lowtone. He had not anticipated any such determined movement as this, and it was evident that for once Captain Josh Peterson was nonplussed. Whether Mr. Briggs had recognized Captain Peterson and Van or not, it was very evident that they were not to beallowed on board. In his wrath the captain forgot his good judgment. ‘‘I know you, you scoundrel!” he roared, choking with anger, ‘‘as well as I know my vessel daubed over with white paint, and if you and your gang don’t swing for this, my name isn’t Josh Peterson !” ‘‘The fat is in the fire now,” ruefully exclaimed Van, as Briggs, without turning his head, spoke in quick sharp tones to some one behind him. The shrill pipe of a boatswain’s whistle resounded along the deck, and half a dozen men ran aft. Casting off the gripes which held the shooner’s boat in place, as it lay keel up on the house, they lifted it off. A shining four pound carronade, such as might be carried on board a yacht for firing salutes, was revealed to the astonished eyes of the boat’s crew. Almost at the same moment, a lithe, red shirted individual sprang up beside it, and, coolly slewing the little gun in the requisite direction, depressed the muzzle till it pointed directly at the boat. “It’s Bates!” muttered Van, as the man drew back the hammer and took the lanyard between his fingers. Gomichooksre