“All right,” said the captain. “You are on the roll.”
The battle began. Bobbie was stationed on the main deck in the thickest of the fight. He was powder boy. He stood close to one of the great guns, and it was his duty to keep powder ready for this particular gun. Back and forth between the powder magazines and the gun he went, the cartridges hidden beneath his jacket so that no spark of fire might touch them. All about him on every side, whizzed the deadly leaden balls, but Bob took no heed of them.
“Well, Bob,” said the captain, after the battle was over, “we did capture the British after all.”
“Yes, sir; yes, sir,” answered Bobbie, his smoke-stained face radiant with joy. “I knew we would.”
“And now,” said the captain, “if we get the old hulk into port, there will be part of the reward for you. Would you mind telling me what you are going to do with the money you get?”
“Half of it I shall send to my mother; with the other half I shall get me a bit of schooling.”
The captain’s heart was touched, and the brave little boy ever after had a warm friend in the captain.