The
circle of steel blades was steadily drawing closer.
That the end of our voyage had come, I was convinced, but I truly was not
afraid to die. It was no credit to me; simply in the heat of action I found
no time for fear. Parry and slash! Slash and parry! Blood was in my eyes. A
cut burned across my right hand. My musket had fallen underfoot and I
wielded a rusty blade that some one else had dropped. Fortunately the flesh
wound I got from the musket-ball in our other battle had healed cleanly,
and no lameness handicapped me.
We had no idea what was going on aft, and for my own part I supposed that
Roger and the rest were in straits as sore as our own; but suddenly a
tremendous report almost deafened us, and when our opponents turned to see
what had happened we got an instant's breathing-space.
"It's the stern-chasers," Davie gasped. "They've faced 'em round!"
The light of a torch flared up and I saw shadowy shapes darting this way
and that.
There were two cannon; but only one shot had been fired.
Suddenly Davie seized me by the shoulder. "See! See there!" he cried
hoarsely in my ear.
I turned and followed his finger with my eyes. High on the stern of the
junk, black against the starlit sky, I saw the unmistakable figure of
Kipping.
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