“There’s another shot,” said the major coolly. “Go on, my fine fellows, waste all the powder you can.”
This shot was wider than the last, and it was followed by one from the other prau which went farther away still.
“What shall we do?” said the major—“by the way, those shot were meant to sink that gig, and they went fifty yards away—Do? Wait and see what the scoundrels go about next.”
“But the Petrel?”
“Well, they can’t sail that away, sir, in this calm.”
“But we must retake her,” said Gregory.
“Well, we’ll try,” said the major, “but it must be by cunning, not force. Now, it’s my belief that the captain has intrenched himself in the cabin, and that he will keep the scoundrels at bay till we get to him.”
“It’s my belief, sir, that they are all murdered by those cut-throats. They’re Sulu men. I saw two of their praus leave Singapore, and they’ve been on the watch for us. Idiot that I was to come away. Ah, Mark, my lad, I didn’t mean you to hear that,” he added, as he saw the lad’s ashy face.
“And he’s all wrong. Erin-go-bragh!” cried the major; “there, what did I say: that’s the captain speaking, I’ll swear.”
For just then a series of shots were heard from the Petrel, and a faint film of smoke was seen to rise.