“Are you in command here?” he said.
As he spoke the launch stopped abreast of the entrenchments and lay motionless in the water.
“I am in command of this detachment,” said Bob.
“Then,” said the Admiral, “you are to lay down your arms at once.”
“You’d better come ashore,” said Bob, “and see our commanding officer if you want to make terms with us.”
The Admiral flushed. He was quite close to us and we could see his face distinctly. He looked as if he wanted to say something explosive. The idea of being invited to make terms with rebels was evidently very objectionable to him. I suppose he must have had strict and binding orders from somebody. He did not say any of the things he wanted to. The launch’s propeller gave a few turns in the water. Then the boat slipped up to the shore. The sailor with the boathook held her fast while the Admiral stepped out of her. Bob received him most courteously. The Admiral glared at Bob. The riflemen, crouched behind their mud bank, scowled at the Admiral. The young officer in the launch gave an order and his boat was pushed off from the shore. Bob and the Admiral walked off together towards the town.
For an hour and a half the launch lay opposite us in the middle of the channel. Occasionally, as the ebbing tide carried her down, she steamed a little and regained her position opposite the entrenchments. Bob’s men, realizing that there would be no shooting till the Admiral returned, rose from their trench. They strolled about the embankment, chatted, smoked, stared at the launch, stared at the battleship from which she came, and peered at the more distant fleet which lay hull down far out towards the entrance of the lough.
“Unless Mr. Conroy has some game on that we know nothing about,” said Bland, “he’d better climb down and make the best terms he can.”