“And if they are not very careful,” growled the latter, “it strikes me I shall be running one if not two of them down. They’d be much safer if they stopped aboard.”
But still the dangerous nature of the rocks forced them nearer and nearer to the enemy.
“Not much doubt about the big gun being disabled,” Poole remarked to his companion, as they noted how busily the crew were preparing to lower the boats. “We should have had a shot long before this.”
“And there’s no doubt either about the screw being fouled,” said Fitz. “I say, take the glass. They’re doing something which I can’t make out. You try.”
Poole re-focussed the binocular, but it was some moments before he spoke.
“Can’t you?” cried Fitz excitedly.
“Yes, but I’m not quite sure. Yes, now I am. Right!”
For at that moment a white ball of smoke shot out from the gunboat’s deck, followed by a dull thud, and something came skipping over the heaving sea, before there was another sharp crack and a shell burst about a hundred yards from the schooner’s stern.
“I wonder whether we shall have to go any nearer,” said Poole excitedly. “They’d be able to do us a deal of mischief like that. I believe she’s got four of those small guns on board.”
“Judging from their gunnery,” said Fitz coolly, “they are not likely to hit us, even if we go much more near.”