"A cannon!" amended Herc.
Above them they heard a cheer, signifying that the first boat had struck the water.
"Stick it out, Herc!" panted Ned, as he struggled with a grimy giant, who, thanks to his ignorance of wrestling and tackles, was easily hurled backward by his lighter opponent. But the fight was too uneven to be of long duration.
Step by step, fighting every inch of the way, the two boys were borne backward by the opposing mob. Ned's foot caught in the lower step of the stairway and he was toppled over backward.
A mighty onrush of the fugitives immediately followed, and Herc shared Ned's fate.
The thought that they had failed flashed bitterly through each Dreadnought Boy's mind as they were trampled and crushed by hurrying feet of the terrified firemen, whose van was followed by the badly scared male passengers. The screams of the women who were being ruthlessly thrust aside tingled maddeningly in the boys' ears as they strove to regain their feet.
Suddenly, above all the noise of the fugitives and the crackling of the flames as they ate through the bulkheads about the engine-room hatchway, the boys heard a sharp command.
It rang out as incisively as the report of a rifle, in a voice that seemed used to implicit obedience:
"I'll shoot the next man up that stairway!"
The rush came to halt for a brief second, and in that time the boys scrambled to their feet.