“It’s all very fine to say ‘scramble on board,’” exclaimed Mr. Triggs; “but do you suppose the negroes will allow us calmly to do such a thing? Why, they’ll knock us on the head the instant we get alongside.”
“There’s no time to argify!” cried Ned in loud emphatic tones. “If we stay here to fight it out with those swabs in our rear, we’ll all be killed to a dead sartinly or taken prisoners. There are eight of ’em at least, and all armed to the teeth.”
“Right you are then,” answered the gunner; “let’s take to the water. ’Tis a desperate venture, but you may depend upon me to back you up through thick and thin.”
“Can you swim?” asked Ned, turning hurriedly to me.
“Yes, very well,” I answered.
The boat was slowly approaching the shore, being now distant about fifty yards or so. It would have been easy for her to land, for there was not much surf.
The pirates were redoubling their efforts to catch us up; though I do not suppose that it entered their heads for a moment that we were about to put into execution any such desperate plan as that proposed by Ned Burton.
We had halted for a brief moment on the margin of the waves. The pirates were now of course bearing swiftly down on us. There were eight or ten of them altogether, and they were near enough for me to see the expression of gratified revenge which was overspreading their countenances as they felt the conviction that their prey was at length within their grasp.
But there is many a slip between the cup and the lip.
“We must chuck away our weapons!” shouted Ned; “but I’m blest if I don’t empty my barrel fust.” And so saying he hurriedly dropped on one knee, and levelling his piece with the utmost coolness and precision fired.