The other two were Englishmen like himself, and evidently entertained their comrade’s preference for a chance bullet or a stab to being tried by court martial and sentenced to a flogging, so they also snatched up their muskets and belts, hastily threw the latter over their shoulders, and, taught by training, brought their pieces to bear, shouting to the prisoners to surrender.
“Give up, you lubbers!” cried the first sailor. “It’s of no good.”
For answer Abel glanced over his shoulder, and seeing that Jack and Dinny had reached the boat, slowly continued the retreat.
“Will you surrender?” roared the sailor, as another shout came from the ravine.
“Surrender yourselves,” cried Bart, fiercely. “Lay down them guns.”
“Surrender, or we fire,” cried the sailor again, as the two men slowly backed toward the boat, watchful of a rush being made.
Bart uttered a low, defiant growl, and the bamboo he held quivered in his knotted hands.
“All together, then, mates,” shouted the sailor, “fire!”
Jack uttered a groan as he stood knee deep in water, running the boat as near as it could be got to his friend, and a mist swam before his eyes.
Click click click!—and as many tiny showers of sparks were struck in the pans of the pieces.