“Don Juarez,” said the girl, in a startled whisper. “O, Santissima Maria,” she added, with a passionate cry, “that treacherous dog, the murderer of my brother! Captain Pardoe, you must not fly. Mr Webster, listen to me.”
“Laura, my dear girl,” said Mr Commins, laying his hand on her arm.
She shook him off with an angry gesture, and turned her flashing eyes on the Captain, while her bosom heaved.
Some of the men had heard her cry, and stood near the bridge.
“Men,” she said, in quick, excited tones, “hear me! That is a Brazilian warship behind. It is commanded by a man who has done me a most fearful wrong. You are Englishmen, and I ask you—”
“Enough, madam,” whispered Pardoe sternly. Then, raising his voice, “Clear the guns for action.”
The Quartermaster’s shrill whistle rang out in immediate response, and in reply a flame of fire leapt out from the darkness astern, followed by the screech of a shell.