Then, however, we got round to the back of the island.
The shore here was low, but too high for us to see over it into the harbour, and just as we caught sight of the little channel running out there, a crowd of ragged ruffians showed up and began peppering away at the boats.
We let into them with our 12-pounder on the bridge, found the range with our second shot, and sent them scurrying like rabbits to cover, followed by a man on a shaggy pony, who cantered slowly after them.
"D' you recognize your friend?" asked Mr. Parker, handing me his telescope. Sure enough, it was the black-bearded man who had fought so splendidly on board that destroyer. I recognized him at once.
"Glad he got safely home," I said.
"I don't think he's got home yet," grinned Mr. Parker. "I don't think he'll find many home comforts in this island. Hurry him up, Jones," turning to the gun's crew, who had ceased firing.
Jones took careful aim, fired, and the shell burst just behind the pony, sending up a cloud of dust and stones. The frightened beast reared and tried to bolt, but the rider calmly quieted it, and, shaking his fist at us, walked it slowly over the crest of the slope.
"That's a fine chap," said Mr. Parker admiringly, and sent me down to his cabin to get him some more tobacco.
Our work for the day was done, and after towing the boats back to the Laird we joined "No. 2", and after dark took up the usual position close to the entrance for the night.
As we towed the cutter back to the ship I could see that Dumpling was wildly excited, and wondered what yarns he would spin in the gun-room that night about his experiences under fire.