Mr Bang and Paul Gelid had all this time been firing with
murderous precision, from where they had ensconced themselves under the
shelter of the larboard bulwark, close to the taffrail, with their three
black servants in the cabin, loading the six muskets, and little
Wagtail, who was no great shot, sitting on the deck, handing them up and
down.
"Now, Mr Bang," cried I, "for the love of Heaven"--and may Heaven
forgive me for the ill--placed exclamation--"mark these two men--down
with them?"
Bang turned towards me with all the coolness in the world "What, those
chaps on the end of the long stick?"
"Yes--yes," (I here spoke of the larboard foreyard--arm,) "yes, down
with them."
He lifted his piece as steadily as if he had really been duck shooting.
"I say, Gelid, my lad, take you the innermost."
"Ah!" quoth Paul. They fired--and down dropped both men, and squattered
for a moment in the water, like wounded waterfowl, and then sank for
ever, leaving two small puddles of blood on the surface.
"Now, master," shouted I, "put the helm up and lay him alongside--there
stand by with the grapplings--one round the backstay the other through
the chainplate there--so,--you have it." As we ranged under his counter
"Mainchains are your chance, men--boarders, follow me." And in the
enthusiasm of the moment I jumped into the slaver's main channel,
followed by twenty--eight men. We were in the act of getting over the
netting when the enemy rallied, and fired a volley of small arms, which
sent four out of the twenty--eight to their account, and wounded three
more.
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