“I guess that’s spiked the revolutionaries’ guns for a while!” exultingly exclaimed Stark. “Those guns would be worth a few hundred rifles to them if they had them.”
There had been no time to rig a hawser, and the disabled launch floated alongside the consul’s craft by a hastily fastened line, made fast about her forward samson-post.
“Come on, Stanley, head around!” exclaimed the middy. “We don’t want to be recognized in this thing.”
But Stanley at the wheel turned a white face toward his officer.
“This tide’s pulling us right down on the point, sir.”
“Great Scott! and it’s alive with troops, too, I’ll bet the admiral’s Sunday hat. Do your best, man.”
Stanley gritted his teeth and set the wheel hard over, but the launch still drifted.
“Look here, sir!” exclaimed Ned suddenly, “the tiller line’s broken!”
He held up a broken end of line.