"Bravo!" she cried; "you've done it, darling."
He had tied the painter skilfully round the iron frame which supported the bell.
"Yes, it's done, dear; the question is, how long will the rope last. It isn't like being moored to a tree at the side of a river. Oh! I'm tired, I must rest a moment; you two look out, and signal if you see any vessel."
As he spoke he kicked something.
"What a set of idiots we are," said Jack, crawling carefully along the bottom of the boat, which was pitching in a manner fearful to describe.
"Here's the gun; let's fire it till someone sees us."
A bang, a flash, a sharp pain in my hand, and a cry of misery. Shall I ever forget those few minutes? I didn't know where I was hurt at first; but the marvel was we were not all turned into the sea as my cousins rushed to me. If our boat had not been, as Jack said, a regular old tub, you would never have read this tale, for I should never have written it.
The bullet had just grazed my left hand and carried away my little finger. Of course, I have missed it very often since, and groaned over the pain then; but if I had to go through that afternoon's experience again, I would certainly still let that bullet work its mischief. Care for me, staunching the blood, and tearing handkerchiefs into strips to stop the circulation at the wrist, which idea I had gathered from various books of war and bloodshed, all took time and distracted our thoughts for a while from the danger which threatened us all.
"I see a boat!" said Harold, with a gasp of joy.
"Give me the gun, quick," cried Rupert. "Don't be frightened, Edric; I won't hurt you. It is our only hope." Bang, bang, bang—three shots in the air as quickly as possible.