"Drop a shell under her bows. Don't hit her. The range is about fifteen hundred yards."
CHAPTER XXI
A GOOD SHOT WITH THE SIX-POUNDER
"Bang," went the six-pounder, and four seconds later a heavy column of water rose up under the bow of the "Robert Centre," three quarters of a mile away.
"Well placed," called out Commander Brice, as he saw the shot fall. "What," he exclaimed a moment later, "the rascal won't heave to! Split the mast, Mr. Drake, six feet above the deck."
Hardly had he given the order when Robert again fired.
"Five feet to the right; aim a little to the left of the mast."
Again a sheet of flame leaped from the six-pounder's mouth, again the thunderous reverberating report, dying out in far-away echoes, rolled from the gun.