“I’ll try ’em myself. I’ll try ’em with the first shot!” he cried, with his face full of blood and his eyes on fire. “There will be time to load and slap thrice at them before they’re alongside, and then----” He turned, and shouted orders to the men to arm themselves to repel boarders and to prepare for a bloody resistance. “Every man of ye will have to fight as though you were three!” he roared. “You will know what to expect if you let those beauties board you. Yan Bol----” and he shouted twenty further instructions, which left the men armed to the teeth, ready to leap to the first syllable of order that should be rendered necessary by the movements of the boat. But at this moment I caught sight of a dim blue line on the white edge of the sea in the north. It was a breeze of wind, something more than a catspaw. The color was sweet and deep, and it spread fast; yet not so fast but that it was odds if the boat were not alongside before our sails should have felt the first of the wind. Greaves sighted the long brass stern-piece, lovingly smote it, and then directed it on its pivot as though it were a telescope. “Stand by to load again, men!” he cried to a couple of sailors who were at hand, and applied the match. The explosion made a noble roar of thunder. The gun might have been a sixty-four pounder for _that_--nay, big as one of those infernal pieces which worried well-meaning Duckworth in the Dardanelles. The ball flew ricochetting for the boat, rhythmic feathers of water attending its flight, as though it chiseled chips of crystal out of the mirror it fled along. It missed the boat, but it fell close enough to flash a burst of white water that may have wetted some of the rogues; and, indeed, it was so finely aimed that our men roared out a cheer for the marksman. That round shot achieved an unexpected result. The oars ceased to sparkle, the boat came to a stand; and this while our piece was loading afresh. “Oh, ye saints, one and all, give it to me to smite ’em this time,” prayed Greaves through his teeth. Wink went a gun in the bows of the boat; a puff like a cloud of tobacco smoke out of Yan Bol’s mouth rolled a little aside, and floated stationary and enlarging. The report came along like the single bark of a dog, but we saw nothing of the ball. “Oh, come nearer--oh, come nearer!” groaned Greaves in his throat; and again he laid the piece, and again he applied the match, and a second volcanic burst of noise followed the fiery belch.