Our attack was futile and soon over, but while it lasted there was a merry
little fight. As a man slashed at Roger with a case-knife, laying open a
long gash in his cheek, Roger fired a shot from his pistol, and the fellow
pitched forward and lay still except for his limbs, which twitched
sickeningly. For my own part, seeing another who had run aft for a weapon
swing at me with a cutlass, I threw myself under his guard and got my arms
round both his knees. As something crashed above me, I threw the fellow
back and discovered that the cook had met the cutlass in full swing with
the cleaver and had shattered it completely. Barely in time to escape a
murderous blow that the carpenter aimed at me with his hammer, I scrambled
to my feet and leaped back beside Roger, who held his cheek with his hand.
I believe it was the cook's cleaver that saved our lives for the time
being. Falk and Kipping had fired the charges in their pistols, and no one
was willing to venture within reach of the black's long arm and brutal
weapon. So, having spent our own last charge of powder, we backed away into
the bow with our faces to the enemy, and the only sounds to be heard were
flapping sails and rattling blocks, the groans of the poor fellow Roger had
shot, and the click of a powder-flask as Falk reloaded and passed his
ammunition to Kipping.
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