“‘How are you going to take us?’ I asked.
“‘Throw your revolvers over here to me,’ he ordered; ‘and I will send out some men to conduct you to the town.’
“‘No,’ I said.
“‘If you do not, I shall be compelled to shoot,’ he said.
“‘Then, shoot, and be hanged to you,’ I replied; and giving a sign to my men, we opened fire with our revolvers at the same moment that the Russians blazed away at us with their rifles. And not until every chamber of our revolvers was empty did we turn and race down that hill toward the head of the cleft by which we had ascended.”
“Did you suffer any loss?” I asked.
“None at all,” was the cheerful answer. “The bullets hummed about our ears like mosquitoes in the summer-time, but not one of us was even touched. On the other hand, I saw several Russians fall before our fire, and I think that at least thirty of them must have gone down before we turned and honourably ‘hooked it,’ as you would say.”
I smiled. Good old Ito! He was a splendid fellow, honest as the day, utterly unassuming, brave as a lion, everything in short that a shipmate should be; but it was evident that the habit of introducing that favourite expression “honourable” in conjunction with a bit of British slang, was inveterate with him, and I felt that it would be a long time before he would be able to recognise its incongruity.
“Well,” I said. “What happened next?”
“Oh, nothing, so far as we were concerned,” he replied. “We scrambled down the cleft into our boat and pushed off, still keeping quite close to the foot of the cliffs, although there was a heavy sea rolling in and breaking upon them. And indeed it was high time for us to be off, for when we pulled out of our little harbour at the base of the cliff, the first light of dawn was showing along the horizon to the eastward.