“Mr Commins,”—the Captain’s hand was laid upon his arm—“you will stay with me, for your scheming nature and coward heart have brought us to this.”
Mr Commins trembled beneath the gloomy eyes turned upon him, cast one imploring look at the faces above, then, without a word, allowed the Captain to lead him to the cabin door.
The sound of a gun broke with relief upon the strained nerves of the spectators.
“Cut the moorings!”
Silently the men on the Irene cut through the ropes, and the Swift floated free.
There was another sullen report, and a shell tore through the tall rigging of the Irene.
The big, white cruiser, with a cloud of smoke hanging about her sides, was leisurely steaming up about half a mile distant, and there was no question of her nature, nor of the ferocity of her commander, who could ruthlessly open fire for sheer devilment on a defenceless ship, for the Swift was up to the present completely hidden.
What must have been the astonishment of her people when, following their last shot, there broke from the blockade-runner a murmur of cheering as every soul on board cracked his throat in sending up a loud hurrah for the Swift and her gallant crew; and when, immediately afterwards, there shot out from the shadow of the Irene a long, low grey craft. When the hunter, coming upon the dead quarry he had wounded earlier in the day, suddenly discovers, crouching behind, the striped body of the tiger, his feeling of dismay, perhaps, would be the same.
“Captain! Captain!” cried Miss Anstrade, “what are you doing? Ah, heaven, I see it now; may the saints preserve him!” She caught hold of a rope, and stood looking from the catcher to the towering battleship, with its broadside pierced for heavy guns, and its decks crowded with men.
“Oh,” she said, “it is cruel!”