"Lads," said Mr. Spencer, "it's Captain Temple's orders to fire into that frigate and get away, if we can. It all depends upon yourselves and the way this boat is handled whether we are blown out of the water, or cut to pieces, or escape with whole skins. I want no talking in the boat."
The man beside me on the thwart pulled his shirt over his head, and several others did likewise. They sat there bare from the waist up, and their torsos looked like those of the men in some of the old engravings in the handsome books I had read at Marshwood.
We were pulling slowly ahead now, and for fully a quarter of an hour we rowed without a break. Then Mr. Spencer called for oars, and we drifted a long time.
"Listen!" said one of the men in the bow, suddenly. He was bending over, with his hand making a hollow back of his ear. Half of the crew did likewise. For a minute I could hear nothing. Then I detected a groaning sound and a ripple of the water. It was the noise of a vessel's sailing.
"I can see her, sir," the bowman said in a hoarse whisper. "She's not five cable-lengths away."
The Lieutenant rose to his feet, and I could see that his hand was trembling as he fumbled in the breast of his jacket. He pulled a boatswain's whistle out and put it to his lips. But before he blew he spoke calmly.
"Bring that gun to bear on her," he said.
"Blow her out of water," spoke up the man beside me, with a chuckle.
What utter foolishness it seemed to me even then (and of a truth it probably was that anyhow) to attack a frigate in a long-boat armed with six muskets and a broadside that you could carry in the crown of your hat! But no one seemed to flinch.