"It's the Captain's order," the Kennet's officer cried impatiently. "You'd best hurry up; we can see any number of men coming along from the village. None of us will get away unless you 'get a move on.'"
Sullenly the Sub gave the order to abandon the picket-boat.
Plunky Bill crawled into the whaler; the two Greeks were lowered into her. Everything that could be taken was taken—the box of ball-cartridge, the compass box, the rifles and cutlasses, signal-book, even the first-aid bag.
The Orphan, still for'ard with Fletcher, who was reeving the new maxim belt through the feed-block, saw more men start to wade towards the island. He opened fire on them; but then the Sub and Jarvis came rushing for'ard, told him to "cease fire", and commenced dismounting the maxim, slinging out the belt, lifting the gun and its shield off its pedestal, and carrying it aft between them. The Orphan tried to pick up the empty belt-box, but couldn't stand, and had to crawl aft without it. Fletcher brought along the almost full box, then ran back and jumped down into the stokehold. Everyone except him was already in the whaler. They shouted for him. He did not come, but a black cloud of smoke belched out of the picket-boat's funnel. Bullets were splashing all round them. Those Turks were half across to the island—in another five minutes they would be able to fire right down into the crowded whaler. Another cloud of smoke came from the funnel.
"He must have gone off his head," the Sub cried, and yelled "Fletcher! Fletcher!"
The old man appeared, dragged himself up, and scrambled down into the boat.
"What the devil were you doing? Shove off! Shove off! Give way!"
"I put on a few shovelfuls of coal, sir, and closed down all the valves—thought she might blow herself up presently."
"Shove off! Get hold of your rifles; half of you blaze away at one side, half of you on the other—at anything you see!" yelled the Sub as the very heavily laden whaler pulled away from the poor old picket-boat and made for mid-stream.
The Kennet, out beyond the mouth of the creek, still kept up a continuous fire to cover the retreat of the crowded whaler as it pushed along out to her, with the picket-boat's crew blazing away at anything they saw which looked like a man's head. She must have seen the people wading across to the island, for she opened fire on them from another gun, and its shells whistled over the whaler and burst above the bank alongside the abandoned boat.