A loud cheer rang out from the throats of the seamen, fore and aft. Mr Order felt satisfied that they were in the right temper for work. He returned again on deck. It was still very dark, and nothing could be seen through the open ports. Every now and then, however, the crest of a sea washed in and deluged the decks, washing from side to side till it could escape through the scuppers. Any moment the order to fire might be heard, or the shot of the enemy might come crashing through the sides. It was a trying time for old salts, who had fought in many a previous battle; much more so for young hands. Paul sat composedly on his tub. Not far off from him stood Gilbert Devereux, in command of a division of guns.
“If a shot were to take his head off, there would be one of our enemies out of the way,” thought Paul; but directly afterwards his conscience rebuked him. “No, no; that is a wicked feeling,” it said; “I would rather be killed myself, if it were not for my poor mother and all at home—they would be so sorry.”
Still, Paul could not help eyeing the aristocratic-looking young midshipman, who, with a firm, proud step, trod the deck, eager for the fight, and little aware that he was watched with so much interest by the humble ship’s boy. Peter Bruff, who had the next division of guns under his charge, came up to Gilbert.
“Well, Devereux, how do you like this fun?” he asked. “Have you ever before been engaged?”
“Never; but I like the idea of the sport well enough to wish to begin,” answered Devereux. “Where are our enemies?”
“Not far off, and they will not disappoint us,” answered Bruff. “We shall have pretty tough work of it, depend on that.”
“The tougher the better,” answered Devereux, in a somewhat affected tone. “I’ve never been in a battle, and I really want to see what it is like.”
“He’s wonderfully cool,” thought Paul. “He hasn’t seen the dead men there, forward. It would be some satisfaction if he would show himself to be a coward, after all. I could throw it in his teeth when he attempts to tyrannise over me.”
Paul’s feelings were very far from right; but they were natural, unfortunately. Gilbert’s firm step and light laugh showed that there was little chance of Paul’s wishes being realised. Now a rumour spread from gun to gun that the enemy were again drawing near. The men took a firmer hold of the gun-tackles, hitched up their trousers, drew their belts tighter round their waists, or gave some similar sign of preparation for the coming struggle.
“Silence, fore and aft!” cried the officer in command of the deck.