“Yes; come see you like cup tea.”
“What! can you get some?” cried Stan.
“Yes, plenty tea. Wateh nea’ly boil.”
“Oh! I should,” cried Stan huskily, “for I feel quite sick at heart.”
There were a few rifle-shots fired at fugitives on the banks, but the object of the gunboat’s crew was more to scatter the savage miscreants than to add to their destruction; for the commander on board was satisfied with the blow at the pirates’ power, and he said so half-an-hour later, when his vessel had steamed back and was moored to the wharf.
He had landed to inspect the place and congratulate its defenders warmly.
“As brave a defence as I know of, gentlemen,” he said. “And it seems to me that I only just came up in time.”
“Only just,” said Uncle Jeff; “but we weren’t beaten.”
“Beaten—up!” said the officer sharply. “You’d have kept the miserable brutes off, but I’m afraid that the fire would have been rather too much—eh?”
“Yes,” said Uncle Jeff; “we should have had to strike our colours to that. But there I don’t talk about it. We’ve had an awful escape.”