It was a critical moment. Another such shot, and the Chinese would be encouraged to break from cover and make a rush across the deck. Frank
succeeded in reloading. But he was trembling so much from excitement that he could not steady his hand sufficiently to pump his bullets into the derrick mast as before, and the shots went high.
“This way, lads, quick,” cried a voice.
It was Matt Murphy. He stood aft at the stern post, beckoning, and beside him was the fat little Doctor Marley, white with fright, trembling, wringing his hands. Bob, Jack and Mr. Temple started towards him. Frank who had taken one swift glance around, called that he would guard their rear and, sending an occasional shot along the deck, walked backward after his companions.
“Come on, come on,” called Murphy’s voice impatiently.
What did he want? What was his intention? Frank found time to wonder. Nevertheless, he did not relax his vigilance. Sending several more shots along the deck, he bumped into a form and whirled about. It was Murphy. Then the boy saw a boat in the water below, with the doctor and Mr. Temple already in it, Jack climbing over the thwarts and Bob sliding down the rope.
A yell of rage went up from several Chinese sufficiently courageous to peer from their hiding places and realize that their prey were escaping.
“Give ’em another shot to hold them,” commanded Murphy.
Frank complied.
Several Chinese who had gained their feet and started forward threw themselves prone again on the deck.