The footsteps overhead were still. The captains had ceased their monotonous walk. Had they, too, noticed the mysterious and unauthorized manoeuvre?
Even as I watched I heard the splash of the cut cable, and, listing over to the now stiff breeze, the Neptune began to forge ahead.
I waited no longer; but rushed on deck, and gained the poop just as Captain Jeremy hailed, in a voice like the bellowing of a bull:
"What are ye up to, ye rascals? Heave-to, I say, or I'll sink you!"
Still the Neptune came on, moving with increasing pace as she drew farther from the lee of the land.
"Below there," shouted the master gunner, "stand to your guns!"
The newly awakened members of our scanty crew passed through the fore hatchway in all states of clothing. They needed no second bidding, but, rushing to the guns, began to load.
Suddenly one of the gunlayers gave an exclamation of angry surprise.
"Spiked!" he shouted, with an oath.
"Same here," announced another, and a hasty examination revealed the unpleasant fact that every gun on the starboard side had an iron nail wedged into the touch-hole and broken off short.