Just as he had turned his head, Mr Preddle’s soft, smooth voice said—
“Here is the stick,” and without turning my head, I reached back my hand, took it, and passed out the great hook. It was ash, I remember, and of a light brown.
It was none too soon, for all at once right along the deck I saw a flash, then a white puff of smoke as Jarette knelt down, lit a match, and held it to the dust upon the deck.
Above the smoke in one glance I saw Walters slinking back behind the main-mast, and then the white vapour shut off everything, so that I reached out unseen, hooked the powder-bag, and after two or three tries drew it in, and shut the door close.
“What is it?” cried Mr Frewen, excitedly; “are they coming?” There was no time to answer. I leaped over the breastwork with the powder-bag in my hand, meaning to run to the stern-window and throw it out, but I thought it might be useful, and I rushed into Mr Preddle’s room to stand holding it behind me as there came a loud hiss and rush, and the saloon began to fill with smoke.
As soon as the danger was over I went out, leaving the powder upon Mr Preddle’s cot, and told them why I had rushed by.
“Oh, come, that’s better,” said the captain; “we thought you were showing the white feather, boy. So you hooked the powder-bag?”
“Yes, there it is,” I said. “Ah, well, this is no time for praise,” said the captain. “You did your duty well, my lad. Yes, it would have been a pity to have thrown the stuff overboard, we might have wanted it to send back with our compliments, eh? Leaden ones. What is it, Brymer?”
“Hist! Jarette is outside, looking astonished that the powder has not done any damage.”
“And he’ll be trying it again,” said Mr Frewen, who, after a few words with the captain, took his gun, placed a chair on the saloon-table, and then mounted upon it, thus bringing his head well up in the sky-light and above the level of the deck, so that he could watch Jarette’s motions if he attempted the same plan.