Behind him, out of the smoke, poured the men, red-hot and roaring, like lava spewed up from the bowels of a volcano.
A stream of boarders, trickling over the bulwarks, raced across the deck to meet them.
"Love and War! O my God, ain't they glory?" howled the Gunner, and plunged into the opposing flood.
One man he felled with his chain-shot; then flung it aside.
"Naked does it!" he roared, and swept up a boarder in his arms. "Ow, the luscious little armful! no good kickin, duckie! You've got to ave it!" He rushed to the side, hugging his man, and screaming fearful laughter.
"Love me and forgive me, pretty tartie!" he roared, and smashed his burthen down over the side.
The fellow crashed into a ladder of boarders, swarming up one behind the other. Back they hurled into the boats, a hurricane of men, one on top of t'other. The boat rocked, crumpled up, and sank.
The tears were rolling down the Gunner's face.
"Quenched their little ardour!" he bellowed, leaping on to the bulwark. "That's the style below there, boys! Go it, ye cripples! Give em the little Tremendous!"
Beneath him the sea was black with boats. From the port-holes of the main-deck the wounded were leaning out, hailing round-shot down into the boats.