“Look! look!” cried Ali, pointing up the river. “There is another—two more. They are coming to take the steamer,” he cried.
“And we aground!” exclaimed the lieutenant, stamping his foot with rage as he gave the necessary orders. The drum beat to quarters directly; the magazine was opened; and the men ran eagerly to their posts; while Ali went quietly into the cabin, and returned with a sword, revolver, and a spotting rifle, lent him by the lieutenant for shooting crocodiles.
“Are you going to fight?” exclaimed Bob Roberts, who looked flushed and excited.
“Yes,” said Ali, “with this;” and he tapped the rifle.
“But against your own people?”
“Rajah Gantang’s pirates are not my own people,” said Ali, contemptuously. “Besides, the English are my friends, and if we could I would have gone to help those ashore.”
“All right,” said Bob, “then we will fight together. I say, it’s going to be a hot affair, isn’t it?”
“They think to take the steamer easily,” said Ali, “as she is ashore, but you will not let them?”
“Let them!” said Lieutenant Johnson, “no, Mr Ali, we will not. We shall fight to the last, and the last will be that I’ll blow the vessel up. I can’t sink her, for she is aground.”
Ali nodded his approval: he seemed in no wise moved at the prospect of the steamer being destroyed. And now he stood watching the coming of the great prahus, with their regular sweeps, twenty to thirty on each side, and alternated this with watching the loading of the guns and disposal of the men.