“And the crocs?”
“Chance it,” said Peter.
“Ugh!” ejaculated Archie.
“’Tain’t tempting, sir, but I’m game. Look here, Mister Archie,” continued the lad; “they say British soldiers are odd fish—and so they are—but bad as we want cartridges, ain’t four hundred of them, all new, and waiting to be used, at a time when every lad’s pouch is empty, a big enough bait to make any British soldier bite? Come on, sir; chance it!”
“I will, Pete; and if one of those hideous reptiles takes me down—well, I shall have died for my country.”
“I won’t, sir,” said Peter fiercely, “but I’ll die for him. I mean, I will disagree with him this ’ere way. Of course I should leave my rifle at home, but I should go that journey with a naked bayonet in my belt, and it will go rather hard before he settles me if I don’t find time to put it into his fatigue-jacket here and there.”
“Yes, Pete; and, as you say, we will chance it. But when we have got the boat, what then?”
“Lie quietly in the bottom, sir, and let it float down till we are off the foot of the Doctor’s garden, and then one of us will hold it ready and drop down the anchor-stone or the grapnel, and there we are.”
“But suppose some of the Malays are already in the house.”
“No, we won’t, sir. We are not going to suppose anything of the kind. We are going to chance it, sir.”