As he spoke his finger pressed the electric button, and the gun barked with that ear-splitting crack peculiar to the 6-pounder.
The tug staggered and rang like an iron drum.
'Not much miss about that!' cried Roy triumphantly. 'You must have got her slap in the boilers.'
'No, it was too high,' said Dimmock in a discontented tone.' This gun jumps a bit. Sharp there, with that other shell.'
Roy slipped it in as though it were a toy, the breech-block snicked to, and five seconds later a second report roused the echoes.
'That's better,' said Dimmock, as a flash of flame rose from the midships section of the tug. 'Ah, there goes her funnel! She's a goner.'
He was right. The tug swung round to the current, and, with engines stopped, drifted idly down the Straits.
'What's the matter? They haven't begun to fire yet,' said Roy quickly, as he thrust a third shell into the open breech.
