When he came round the Gentleman was approaching slowly across the grass.
He bantered no more. Maiden and Devil were dead. He was man, and grey as dew.
"Captain Joy," he was saying quietly. "Let us face facts. Samson is bound. Over there," pointing to Beachy Head, "are the liers in wait. That frigate's the Medusa. Nelson's aboard of her. She can't escape."
The words stung Kit to new life.
"She can't escape perhaps," he shouted. "But can't she fight?"
The other shook his head.
"Why?" persisted Kit, hot for the honour of his Service. "Why can't she fight?"
"She can't fight," said the Gentleman slowly, "because her powder's wet."
"What!" bellowed the Parson—"more traitors!"
"The Gunner is mine," replied the Gentleman briefly.