“Then I should not wait long,” said Mr Frewen, anxiously. “It will perhaps make the scoundrels keep off.”
“’Zactly, sir. Mr Dale here’s skipper now, and he’ll give the order directly.”
“No, no,” I said; “Mr Frewen, you take the lead.”
“I am only the doctor,” he replied, with a smile, which made me feel that he was laughing at me. But the boats were coming on so fast that something had to be done, and in my excitement I cried—
“Now, Bob. Time!”
“Ay, ay, sir,” he shouted, going down on one knee to point the little gun. “Sarvice!”
There was a growl from forward, and Neb Dumlow came limping from the galley, along the narrow piece of deck, by where the steam still rose, and flourishing a red-hot poker, hurried to our side.
“Cap’en o’ the gun says— Stand well from behind; keep alongside, ’cause she kicks. One moment. I can’t get no better aim. Now, sir, ready!”
“Fire!” I cried; and I felt in agony, but had faith in Bob Hampton’s words.
Down went the hot poker. There was a flash, a fizz, and a puff of smoke from the touch-hole, and that was all. No, not all, for a puff of wind followed that of smoke, and the ship began to glide onward again, while the men gave a cheer, and Barney ran to the wheel.