But the second mate, who was a brave old fellow, and who, having “seen some fighting” in a frigate during the war of 1812, was familiar with gunpowder as well as with whales, coolly eyed the mutineer, and replied:
“Fire, and be hung to you! You can’t scare me with any such little plaything as that; besides which, I know you are nothing of a marksman, and couldn’t hit the broadside of a frigate, though it were but a few fathoms off! Pull ahead, lads!”
“We’ll see about that!” replied Lark, and, taking deliberate aim, he fired.
The second mate did not utter a word of complaint; but the hand that held the steering-oar dropped bleeding and powerless by his side.
Seizing the implement with his left, however, he still encouraged his men, in a low, stern tone, that denoted his sufferings, and the effort he made to prevent the expression of them.
The next moment, Briggs had taken his place, and, tearing off a piece of the boat flag, the wounded man, with the assistance of the after oarsman, proceeded to wind it about the bleeding hand.
As soon as this task was accomplished, his assistant seized the boat-keg, with the intention of pouring some of the fresh water it contained upon the rag. But, of all the precious elements in this world, that simple but invaluable one, fresh water, is most prized, and hoarded with most scrupulous care, by seafaring men, whose prolonged absence from hospitable shores renders it difficult for them to procure a sufficient supply of the treasure. Hence, it followed that Mr. Spooner very promptly and decidedly pushed aside the keg.
“Not a drop,” said he, “shall be wasted on me. We’ll need that water, badly enough, before we get through with this business!”
Another bullet, at this instant, came whistling toward the boat, and, striking the handle of one of the oars, passed through the sleeve of the mate’s jacket.
“Spring, men, spring!” roared Briggs. “Lay back to your oars with a will, and we’ll be aboard the craft before that big rascal can load and fire again.”