The men on the yacht were yelling at the full strength of their lungs, and stood near the bow with handspikes raised ready to fell the first who should attempt to come on board; but they could not guard the stern at the same time, therefore the captain and mate succeeded in clambering over the rail before the fellows were fully aware of their purpose.
The boys had just pulled around the Day Dream when the main body of mutineers burst out of the bushes, and the shower of bullets which they sent, without waiting to take accurate aim, did no injury to any one.
Mr. Jenkins had opened the battle by hurling a handspike with such good effect that the taller sailor was knocked over like a ninepin, and the other, realizing how useless it would be to contend against such odds, leaped into the sea, swimming for dear life as those on the shore continued to discharge their weapons.
“Keep under the rail as much as possible,” Captain Mansfield shouted, as he set the example by crouching where he could get a view of the shore without exposing too much of his body. “They can’t have any very great amount of ammunition, and it isn’t likely either of that crowd has got the nerve to swim out here.”
Andy was the only one who did not follow this suggestion instantly. The old darky was so elated at the complete turning of the tables that it seemed absolutely necessary to give vent in some way to his joy.
He danced around the deck in full view of the angry men on shore, shouting in a sing-song tone:
“Wese done got de bes’ ob dem villyns! Glory to de Lam’! Wese ’board de yacht once mo’! Glory to de Lam’! Wese gwine—— Hi, yi, yi!”
These last exclamations were by no means a portion of his song of triumph; but just at that moment a bullet from one of the rifles had grazed the top of his ear, causing more pain than a really serious wound would have done, and, with a howl of terror, he flung himself down by Captain Mansfield’s side, where he alternately moaned and continued to cry:
“Glory to de Lam’!”