“Maybe. But whether Turk or Tartar, we’ll beat him,” answered another.
An order was passed along the decks that not a gun should be fired till the captain gave the word. The boys had not forgotten their fight a few weeks before, and had an idea that this was to turn out something like that. Then the shot of the enemy had passed between the masts and the rigging; but scarcely one had struck the hull, nor had a man been hurt, so they had begun to fancy that fighting was a very bloodless affair.
“What shall we do with the prisoners, if we take her, I wonder?” asked Tom. “We’ve got Monsieurs enough on board already.”
“I daresay the captain will know what to do with them,” responded Bill.
“We must not count our chickens before they’re hatched,” said Jack. “Howsumdever, we’ll do our best.” Jack’s remark, which was heard by some of the crew of the gun near which he was seated, caused a laugh.
“What do you call your best, Jack?” asked Ned Green.
“Sitting on my tub, and handing out the powder as you want it,” answered Jack. “What more would you have me do, I should like to know?”
“Well said, Jack,” observed Green. “We’ll work our guns as fast as we can, and you’ll hand out the powder as we want it.”
The talking was cut short by the voices of the officers ordering the men to be ready for action.
The crews of the guns laid hold of the tackles, while the captains stood with the lanyards in their hands, waiting for the word of command, and ready at a moment’s notice to fire.