“What! you could not trust us to fight the ship without you, Mr Morton?” he said, in a kind tone of reproof. “I must let you stay now you are on deck, but I would rather you were snug in your berth.”
“While I’ve breath for my pipe, and legs to stand on, I’d rather be here, Captain Courtney, thank you, sir,” answered Rolf. “I would lose an arm rather than let our prize be retaken.”
“So would I, Mr Morton, and we will do our best to help her escape,” said the captain, and he passed on.
With like kind words of encouragement both to officers and men, the captain passed along the guns; not a man of the crew who would not have dropped at their quarters, or gone down with the ship, rather than yield as long as their brave chief bade them fight on.
By the time Captain Courtney regained his post on the quarter-deck, the enemy had got within gun-shot, and commenced firing with her longer pieces at the “Thisbe,” but the shot fell wide.
“The enemy’s gunners want practice,” observed the captain to the third lieutenant, who was doing duty as first, though he himself was severely wounded. “We’ll reserve our fire till they get a little nearer, and then give it them with a will. They probably expect that we shall haul down our colours after we have satisfied the calls of honour with a few shots.”
“They don’t know of whom they have got hold then,” answered Mr Trenane, the lieutenant. “In a light wind they might have had too much the advantage of us, but with this breeze, the loss of our masts will matter less, I hope.”
The enemy was now coming up rapidly on the “Thisbe’s” quarter. A shot from her bow chasers whistled through the latter’s rigging; several others followed as the guns could be brought to bear.
On she came.
The “Thisbe” had not fired.