"My eyes," said Jack; "who'd a thought it; there's a go! Wouldn't he do for a dummy—to lead a forlorn hope, or to put among the boarders?"
"Here," said Sir Francis, handing a bullet to Henry Bannerworth—"here is the bullet you shot at me."
Henry looked at it—it was blackened by powder; and then Marchdale seized it and tried it in the pistol, but found the bullet fitted Henry's weapon.
"By heavens, it is so!" he exclaimed, stepping back and looking at Varney from top to toe in horror and amazement.
"D——e," said the admiral, "if I understand this. Why Jack Pringle, you dog, here's a strange fish."
"On, no! there's plenty on 'um in some countries."
"Will you insist upon another fire, or may I consider you satisfied?"
"I shall object," said Marchdale. "Henry, this affair must go no further; it would be madness—worse than madness, to fight upon such terms."
"So say I," said the admiral. "I will not have anything to do with you, Sir Francis. I'll not be your second any longer. I didn't bargain for such a game as this. You might as well fight with the man in brass armour, at the Lord Mayor's show, or the champion at a coronation."
"Oh!" said Jack Pringle; "a man may as well fire at the back of a halligator as a wamphigher."