It was well on in the middle of the day, and there was no sign of the ship. The men had greatly improved the shelter up in the chasm; but though the carriages were up one at each end near the positions they were to occupy, the two guns which should by this time have been mounted lay on the rock, the first one having brought down the tackle, and bounded from a sloping stone on to the unfortunate lieutenant, pinning him to the ground before he could get out of the way.
After seeing that his patient was carefully watched by one of the men who had been his companion that morning, Syd was trying to drive away the miserable feeling of faintness and exhaustion from which he suffered by partaking of a little refreshment, when, just as he was thinking of his father’s orders, and that those guns ought to be mounted, the boatswain came up, touched his hat to him and Roylance, and was about to speak, when Terry strode up, and ignoring his brother midshipmen, said sharply—
“Look here, bo’sun; that was all nonsense this morning. Mr Dallas is wounded, and incapable. I am senior officer, and the captain’s orders must be carried out. Call the men together, and I’ll have those guns up at once.”
“Ay, ay, sir!” cried Strake; his whistle sounded shrilly against the sides of the rock, and the men came running up.
“All hands to hoist up the guns,” cried Terry. “Now, bo’sun, have that tackle fixed better this time.”
“Ay, ay, sir. Now, my lads, be smart, and we’ll have that gun up in a jiffy.”
The men were all gathered together in a knot, but no one stirred; and they began muttering to themselves.
“Now, my lads; what is it?” cried the boatswain. “You don’t mind a bit o’ sunshine, do you? Come, bear a hand.”
Not a man stirred, and Syd and Roylance exchanged looks.
“What is the meaning of this?” cried Terry, in a bullying tone. “Do you hear, men? I want these guns up directly.”