"How's things forrad?"
Forward the deck was all but clear.
The remnant of the boarders, jammed up in the bows, were being hammered
to death. A last fellow in a red night-cap, swarming out on the bowsprit,
plumped into the sea.
The Gunner leapt on to the bulwark.
"Cleared, be God! alow and aloft!" he roared, swinging his chain-shot
about his head. "Ats off all!--
_God save h'our gracious King._"
A bandaged head poked out of the hatchway.
"They're swarmin in through the port-holes!" came a husky scream.
Old Ding-dong lifted on his elbows.
"Leave the quarter-deck to me and the boy!" he roared. "Clear the
main-deck."
"Ay, ay, sir," answered the Gunner, racing for the ladder. "Back to
hell, the leetle beetches!"
The old man looked up.
"Any more for us, Mr. Caryll?"
A boat swept under the stern.
"Here's another of them, sir!"
The boy staggered to the side. A grappling iron swung from beneath
almost struck him in the face.
He seized the cook's poll-axe, and hacked away at the bulwark. Then
he put his shoulder to a carronade and shoved.
"H'all together eave!" whispered the dying cook, and lent a feeble
hand.
Over went the carronade with spinning wheels. It caught the boat
fair amidships, and broke it up like matchwood.
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