No. The worst was over. A lesser wave swept towards them. It tossed
those wooden legs, dreadfully sporting with them, and fled, snarling.
The boy bent with thankful heart.
"That's all, sir. It won't come again. It's the swell made by the
explosion--not the tide."
"Ah," said the other sleepily; and opened his eyes.
Seaward hung a huge toad-stool of smoke. Out of the heart of it came
the clash and cry of torn waters. All else was still, save for the
scream of disturbed sea-birds.
Through the frayed and drifting edge of the smoke could be seen the
frigate and the spars of the privateer; and sticking out of the water,
a jagged mizzen--all that was left of the little _Tremendous_.
As his eye fell on the splintered stump the old Commander lifted a
hand to his forehead.
"Plucky little packet," he muttered. "Plucky little packet."
CHAPTER XVIII
OLD DING-DONG'S REVENGE
Old Ding-dong lay at the foot of the cliff among the chalk boulders,
his limp white legs glimmering in the twilight.
To Kit, kneeling at his side, it seemed that only the old man's slow
blinking eyelids were alive. The horror of it thrilled the boy, and
woke the woman in him. He was not repelled; he was drawn closer.
Pages:
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113