Frank wondered at the Captain’s quiet tones. Usually he was sharp and rough; now he spoke as though he were asking for a second cup of tea.
“I knew it,” said the Captain.
The red eye astern was dimmed by two livid flashes. Frank heard the dull reports, and then with a thrill down his back listened to the cry of the shells as they sped on. The enemy had as yet done no damage, but he knew that these shrieking messengers had at last scented their foe. He jerked his head violently as the shriek rose to a fiendish scream, and a swift rush of air swept across his face, whilst the crushing of iron behind him told that the shot had struck. It passed through the forward funnel as though it had been a sheet of paper, and the smoke came pouring out of the holes.
“They’ve got our range at last, and it’s lucky for us they have no search-light.”
“I’ll go and get my rifle,” said Frank.
The Captain chuckled: “She’s a mile off, at least; and if not, you might just as well puff at a whale with a pea-shooter. Still, I know how you feel. It’s devilish hard to stand fire without giving back.” He raised his voice: “Fire!”
The twelve-pounders spoke together, belching out balls of fast revolving smoke, and spurring the ship on with their recoil.
“It’s no good, of course,” muttered the Captain; “but it will encourage them to keep up the chase.”
“Why not give them the big gun, Captain?” asked Frank impatiently.
“A waste of ammunition; and we’ll want all we have when we get near the end of our voyage. I could turn and engage them, but I like to see what I am about, and all I want to do now is to encourage them. There she goes round; see her port lights; she’ll give us another broadside, and do you count the flashes.”