Before Frank had reached the bridge the enemy had come round and fired his two forward guns, then, keeping on to port, quickly let go his starboard broadside. The water about the floating flare was dashed up in showers.
The Captain slapped Hume on the back as he reached the bridge.
“That’s a simple trick, eh! and we could slip away as easy as winking if we had a mind to. Lord, won’t they howl when they find how they have been done!”
There came a hearty guffaw from the towers aft as the men saw through the Captain’s joke.
“Lord, there he goes again,” as the forward guns again belched forth; “what a ferocious devil the commander must be! He takes that light to be a signal, and imagines he is firing at a crippled ship, the devil.”
The Quartermaster came forward. “The enemy has slackened off, sir.”
“Is that so?” said the Captain, taking a long look at the steamer’s lights. “Ha, I have it,” and he smacked his fist in his hand, showing the first symptoms of excitement. “He thinks we’ve gone down, and we’ll lay-to till morning, which can’t be far off.”
“There’ll be grey light in an hour, sir.”
The Captain kept his eye on the steamer’s light, which rose and fell, but kept its place.
“Quartermaster, take your men below for some hot grog and a bite, and rouse Mr Webster.”