“Only as a last resource, Bob,” I replied.
“Beg pardon, sir.”
“Don’t,” I cried to the man who touched me. “Never mind ceremony now; go on firing.”
“Yes, sir; but Tom Jecks says, sir, would you like six on us to land and have a go at the beggars?”
“No,” I cried. “Keep together; we may be afloat at any moment.”
“Right, sir; on’y we’re all willing, if you give the word.”
“I know that,” I cried. “But be careful, my lads. It’s a terrible position, with our chief officer down like this.”
“So it is, sir,” said the man, taking careful aim at a part of the bank where he thought that he saw a movement. Then, almost simultaneously, there was a flash from the place, and another from his rifle muzzle.
“Either on us hit?” he said coolly, as I clapped my hand to my ear, which felt as if a jet of cold air had touched it. “Don’t think I touched him, sir, but he has cut off. I can hear him going. Not hurt, are you, sir?”
“No; a bullet must have gone close to my ear,” I said.