Just then an idea seemed to have struck Bob Roberts, who ran across the deck to where old Dick was standing ready by a gun.
“Here, Dick, I want you. Wilson, come and take his place.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried the man; but old Dick growled.
“Don’t take me away, Mr Roberts, sir,” he said, querulously. “I was longing for a shot at them dirty pirates, and now I’m losing my chance.”
“Look here, Dick,” cried Bob, and he raised himself on tiptoe and whispered something to him, old Dick’s soured face undergoing a complete change to one full of mirth. The wrinkles became puckers, and his eyes nearly closed, while his mouth seemed drawn out at the corners till nearly double its usual length.
“It will be just right, Dick,” said the middy.
“To a T, Mr Roberts, sir. Well, you are a clever one, you are! Who’d ha’ thought of that?”
“You be ready, Dick; I depend upon you, mind,” cried the middy; and he ran back to his post.
The prahus were coming steadily on, up and down stream, and it could be seen from the steamer’s deck that they were full of men, and bristling with spears, while any doubt as to the unfriendliness of their intentions was soon dispelled by the noise of beating gongs on board each vessel, the object being apparently to encourage each other and to excite alarm in the breasts of their foes, a result which in this case the noise decidedly failed in obtaining.
The men kept glancing anxiously at their commander, who seemed to be letting the prahus approach very closely, which appeared to be a bad policy, seeing that the Malays were about ten to one, and their object would doubtless be to board the steamer and engage in a hand-to-hand fight; but Lieutenant Johnson had made his plans, and was abiding his time. He himself carefully pointed the guns, depressing them somewhat, so that the shot should strike low; and then leaving the task in the hands of the captain of each piece, he waited the result.