Jones did so, and, as its rays lit up the cabin, we saw that the smoke was thicker than when we first stopped firing. The peculiar pungent odour of burning tar and wood now became apparent.
The noise on deck had almost ceased entirely, but, as we listened, there broke upon our ears the dull boom of a heavy gun.
We looked at each other. Then it sounded again, and a loud crash above told of a shot tearing through our hull, while the dull report was repeated.
“Man-o’-war,” said Jones, significantly.
“Break down the door,” I cried. “We must get Miss Allen and Ernest.”
Hicks had already started for the light, and Jones bounded up the steps, cutting at the panels as he reached the top, while we hurried back to the lazarette.
Even as we went, the barque’s deck seemed to slant a trifle forward, and I wondered at it vaguely, as we made our way along the dark passage under the cockpit. In a few minutes we had made our way clear aft to the vessel’s run. Here, behind boxes and barrels of stores, that Hicks had broken out and formed into a barricade, was Miss Allen. She greeted us calmly, but I could see the terror in the girl’s eyes that the horror of the night had produced.
“I expected you,” she said, her voice trembling.
Hicks looked at her sadly, and held out his hand.
“Come,” he said, “we haven’t a minute to spare. Where’s Ernest?”