“Unshackle abaft the windlass! Stream both buoys! Easy, astern. Let go, all!” The slip-rope flew out, the two buoys bobbed in the water to mark where anchor and cable had been left, and the flat-iron waddled out into midstream with the white ensign at her one mast-head.
“Give her all you can. That thing has the legs of us,” said Judson. “And down we go!”
“It's war—bloody war. He's going to fire,” said Mr. Davies, looking up through the engine-room hatch.
The white gunboat without a word of explanation fired three guns at the flat-iron, cutting the trees on the banks into green chips. Bai-Jove-Judson was at the wheel, and Mr. Davies and the current helped the boat to an almost respectable degree of speed.
It was an exciting chase, but it did not last for more than five minutes. The white gunboat fired again, and Mr. Davies in his engine-room gave a wild shout.
“What's the matter? Hit?” said Bai-Jove-Judson.
“No, I've just seized of your roos-de-gare. Beg y' pardon, sir.”
“Right O! Just the half a fraction of a point more.” The wheel turned under the steady hand, as Bai-Jove-Judson watched his marks on the bank coming in line swiftly as troops anxious to aid. The flat-iron smelt the shoal water under her, checked for an instant, and went on. “Now we're over. Come along, you thieves, there!”
The white gunboat, too hurried even to fire, was storming in the wake of the flat-iron, steering as she steered. This was unfortunate, because the lighter craft was dead over the missing buoy.
“What you do here?” shouted a voice from the bows.