But there was no answer, for our attention was taken up by a savage burst of rage from Jarette, who fired at us unmistakably this time, and a sharp cry came from one of the occupants of the boat.
“I warned you,” cried Jarette. “Now row for your lives.”
“Yes, in heaven’s name, go,” cried Mr Denning, “you are only adding to our agony.”
“No,” cried Mr Frewen, “I will not give up. Brymer—my lads, you will fol—”
“Hush,” said Mr Brymer, as there was another flash and a report from Jarette’s pistol. “Of course we will follow, but not now. It would be madness. Wait, man! We will not go far. Use your oars, my lads.”
“No, no, I forbid it,” cried Mr Frewen wildly, “and I call upon you men to help me board this ship.”
“You are not in command here, sir,” said Mr Brymer sternly. “Take your place. Now, my lads, oars, and give way.”
There was another shot from the deck, and one of the men uttered an exclamation as the blades were thrust over the side, dipped, and seemed to lift golden water at every stroke.
“Good-bye, and God bless you!” came from the cabin-window, and directly after the same words were spoken by Miss Denning, and I heard Mr Frewen utter a groan.
Another shot came from the ship, whose lanterns showed where she lay, while, but for the golden oil the oars stirred on the surface of the water, our boat must have been invisible, though that bullet was sufficiently well aimed to strike the side of the boat with a sharp crack.