“None of that, if you don’t want to be pitched overboard. We’re not going to get a skin full of shot in us, or be sent to the devil by grape, just to please you.”
Even through his passion, Aylesford had the sense to see that he could do nothing against the majority by compulsion, but that his only hope was in appealing to the selfish interests of the men.
“I’ll give each of you twenty guineas, twenty guineas in gold,” he said, eagerly, “if you’ll keep on and overtake the boat.”
But, by this time, the field-piece on shore was ready to fire. The match was being whirled around to keep it burning, while a patriot sighted the gun for the last time; and the men saw this with a terror against which even the large bribe could not prevail.
“We’ve come too far already,” said the spokesman. “Steer the boat while we pull, or I’ll blow your brains out. What good would your guineas be to men who wouldn’t live to get them?”
At these words, the four oarsmen gave way lustily, as men only row when the race is for life or death.
“God! there it comes,” suddenly cried the stroke-oarsman, ducking his head involuntarily.
At the moment, a jet of flame shot out from the cannon, followed by a puff of dense, whitish smoke. Instantaneously a hurtling noise was heard through the air, the water was ploughed up astern of the boat, and Aylesford, with a sharp groan, suddenly dropped the tiller, and tumbled headlong forward into the stern sheets.
“He’s hit,” cried the oarsman, and without looking around, he continued, “is anybody else hurt?” For the others had ceased rowing.
No one answered. All the rest had fortunately escaped.