Lambert fired!
He missed; and the ball, after shaving the side of the long-boat amidships, whistled into the sea far ahead, and Antonio uttered a fierce and derisive laugh, while the Lascars shrunk back with fear.
The enemy had not a single missile, for, most fortunately, all the loose shot for the ship's guns had been rolled aft, and lay in our rear.
While both parties paused, one irresolute to advance, the other to pour in their volley, I—being an old Eton bowler—resolved to make a wicket of the Cubano's legs. I took up a nine-pound shot, which lay with a score of others in the lee scuppers, and hurled it at him with all my strength.
He leaped aside nimbly, and escaped, while the shot bowled harmlessly along the deck. He rushed after it, doubtless with the intention of returning it to me with compound interest; but fortunately for me, at that moment Hislop, who had lost all patience, and was no doubt smarting under the memory of his wounds and of Antonio's past outrages, cried,—
"Fire a volley and fall on them, my lads, with the butt ends of your muskets!"
It might have been better policy, considering the superior number of the mutineers, for ten of us to have fired, and ten to have reserved their fire until the former reloaded; but Hislop's order was promptly responded to.
We all poured in a confused volley, and then rushed on, in the smoke, with clubbed muskets and a hearty English cheer.
There was a brief struggle, during which our men laid about them mercilessly, and knocked over the Spaniards like nine-pins; while I encountered one active and wiry old villain, the tindal of the Lascars, who rushed on me with his creese in his right hand, his body doubled, and his head bent down.
Charging him breast-high, the muzzle of my piece came crash upon the crown of his caput, which a scarlet fez failed to protect, and so I tumbled him against one of the brass nines to leeward.