"He said the vessel had been armed with two twelve-pounders, and we have not even one. I suppose she has the other on the starboard side. If she had half a dozen of those playthings she might do something."
"She may do a deal of mischief with two of them if they are well handled," suggested Louis.
"She can't use but one of them at once, and she will have to come entirely about before she can do anything with the other. Her top-gallant forecastle isn't big enough for them, as the Guardian-Mother's is for hers. I am not much scared yet, my darling."
"Neither am I, Flix; but I think this is about the tightest place we have been in since we came across the Atlantic."
"Captain Scott will arrange the affair all right. If I were a sporting-man, I would bet on him yet," protested Felix.
"But while we are not scared, you know that it is possible for one of those guns to put a shot through our boiler, rip out the engine, or tear a big hole in the plates of the Maud," added Louis.
"We can plug the shot-holes—I believe that is what they call it."
"We have not a single one of the old man-of-war's-men of the Guardian-Mother on board who can tell us what to do in case of accident."
"But we won't croak, whatever else we do. If we are to be sent to the bottom of this bay, we will go down with the best grace possible," added Felix, who was certainly in as good humor as ever he was, in spite of the brass gun that protruded at the side of the Fatimé. "Do you suppose Captain Scott knows about that twelve-pounder?"
"He appears to be very busy; and I doubt if he has looked at the enemy since he went into the pilot-house," replied Louis. "I think I had better tell him that Mazagan spoke the truth about his guns."