"Three!" cried both together.
The river was filled with the debris—with dead and dying pirates. Of the three boat loads, not half a dozen were sufficiently uninjured to be dangerous—and they were in deep water, with all they could do to care for themselves.
One boat remained—Long-Sword's boat. The ships could not reload the guns in time to reach it—they must sink it when it swung alongside, or meet the crew as they came up the ropes.
It was close distance, now. Long-Sword, transferring the tiller to his left hand, drew his pistol and fired quickly. A sailor threw up his arms and fell. He seized a fresh pistol, from the man nearest, and fired a second time, knocking the cutlass from another's hand. Again, he cut the bulwark at another's head. Then the rail hid them. The next moment, they shot in alongside.
Before they could seize the ropes, however, a man reared himself upright, just above them, bearing in his arms a huge water cask, and flung it down into the boat.—And the boat disappeared, as if by magic, leaving its cargo of wounded and uninjured struggling in the water.
"Bravo! Jamison! bravo!" exclaimed Marbury. "You get a quarter's salary for that throw. Marry, how they struggle!"
"Look at Long-Sword!" said Parkington. "See, he is up the rope, hand over hand!... he makes the rail!... he is aboard!... his rapier is out!... he spits one!... he spits another!... My God! did you see it! struck from behind!—he is down! he is down!"
The fall of their leader ended the fight. The Coward and One-Eye had gone down with the boats—the former with his neck broken, the latter with his legs shot away. There was none to lead the few that had remained on shore, or who managed to save themselves from the river. Their one thought, now, was flight.—But where to flee!
Boom!
A ball from one of the vessels scattered the water at their very feet. They cut and ran for cover, leaving the wounded to follow, as best they might.