“I think that’s checked them, sir,” said Murray; but almost as he spoke there came three shots from some of the boldest of the enemy who had stopped short to snap off their vengeful retreating replies to the sailors’ volley.
“Waste of powder,” growled Tom May. “Hear ’em running through the trees, Mr Murray, sir?”
“Yes, and I should like to give them another volley.”
“So should I, sir,” panted the big sailor, as he drove down his ramrod till it nearly hopped out of the musket-barrel again; “but we can’t afford it.”
“Any one hurt there, May?” cried the lieutenant.
“Yes, sir; lots,” replied the big sailor, with a chuckle of satisfaction.
“What’s that?” cried the lieutenant, in anxious tones.
“Beg pardon, sir,” growled the sailor hastily. “I didn’t mean us.”
“Silence, sir!” cried the lieutenant sternly.
The next minute, in the midst of that which the officer had commanded, they heard him giving orders to the black.