“Yes; I will not want you till daybreak, and you will fight all the better, then, for a good sleep. Take off the men from the six-pounders—the fewer on board the better.”
Webster went below with six men from the two guns, leaving on deck eight hands in all to work the ship and the two twelve-pounders. One of these was at the wheel in the conning-tower; another was stationed forward on the lookout; and the others were in two steel towers, which were aft, about three feet above the deck, protecting the men from the hail of missiles that might be discharged from the machine guns, while their sloping sides would deflect larger projectiles.
“Mr Hume!”
“Sir.”
“Join me on the bridge.”
Frank mounted to the low bridge, and went close to the dark figure of the Captain for companionship. They were unprotected by steel armour, and for himself he experienced a feeling of complete helplessness. He felt that up there he was a mark for every gun aimed at the Swift, and that without any power of retaliation.
“It is a fine night,” he said aimlessly, looking up at the starry sky.
“A very fine night, indeed,” said the Captain, taking hold of his beard with both hands; “but there’ll be rain in the morning.”
Frank brought his eyes down from the stare to a red eye that gleamed far astern.
The Captain took a couple of steps, and spoke down the tube: “Please attend to your fires; there are too many sparks.”