“Where do you want the killick laid out, sir?” inquired the leading seaman with the party over the side.
“Beyond that hump,” replied the captain, pointing to the shoal that had recently been uncovered. “Mr. Raxworthy, you’d better superintend operations; see that the flukes are well bedded.”
“Aye, aye, sir,” answered the midshipman.
Taking off his shoes and socks, Raxworthy lowered himself over the side into about fifteen inches of water. It was so muddy that he was not able to see his toes.
The bluejackets bent a rope to the crown of the anchor and commenced to drag it towards the spot that the Owner had indicated. When the drag of the cable became too great they ran out the slack by means of long-handled steel hooks until they were able to shift the anchor another twenty feet or so.
“Last flight, lads!” exclaimed Raxworthy, who felt compelled to take an active part in the operations, and was tailing on to the rope. “Walk away with her!”
The next instant his legs were knocked away, and he sat down in the swiftly running water. The splash nearly blinded him, while water in his ears had temporarily dulled his hearing.
Yet he was aware of the men shouting both ashore and on deck and of the sharp cracks of a rifle.
He tried to rise, but there seemed no power in his legs.
“It’s that confounded sniper!” he thought. “The blighter’s got me through both ankles!”