"Well, tell me this--what about the powder and weapons? What do you know about them?" "I'll tell you, sir," said Bob; "but, begging your pardon, hadn't you better clap a stopper on this here game?" "How, man?" "Answering them shots, sir." "I would, but my cartridges are nearly all gone. How did you get these?" "Outer the hold, sir, where they stowed 'em close alongside o' the blasting-powder. There's plenty more." "Can you get them?" "Oh yes, sir. You see, before the mutiny began, Jarette set some one, as I heard afterward, to smuggle all the cartridges and weapons he could out of the cabins and from the captain's locker." "Yes, we found out that had been done. Who did they send?" Bob Hampton chuckled. "Why, you know, sir." "Not Mr Walters?" "If you was to spend all the rest o' your life, sir, making shots at it, you wouldn't never get nigher than that." "The young scoundrel! Then you know where the cartridges are?" "Course I do, sir: under the battened down hatches yonder. Frenchy put 'em there himself, and wouldn't let no one go nigh 'em, 'cause the fellows were always smoking. I got down to 'em at night when the storm was coming, as you know, and when you want more, there they are,--yer pistols and guns too." "Oh, that puts quite a different complexion upon our position, Mr Denning. We can fire as much as we like," cried the mate. "But one word more, Hampton. What about the mutineers? Have they a very large supply of ammunition?" "Well, sir, that I can't say. I know Jarette always kep' his pockets jam-full, but I don't know nothing about the others." The chopping was still going on while this discussion took place, and shot after shot was fired, evidently in a blind fashion, as if the man who used the revolver was unable to take an aim at any one, and merely fired to keep us away from the hatch; but now all at once we were startled by a sharp jingling of glass, and the violent swinging of one of the lanterns, which had been struck by a bullet. "That was the result of some one aiming," cried Mr Denning, sharply. "If they don't do any more damage than that it won't matter," said Mr Preddle. "Look here, Brymer," whispered Mr Frewen, speaking now after carefully watching the dimly-seen hatch for some minutes, "it strikes me that if you let them go on firing for a little longer they will be forced to surrender." "For want of ammunition?" said the mate. "No; for want of air. That ventilator will not carry off the foul gas from the firing." "But the holes they are making will," said the mate. "If it were not so dark you would see that the smoke is curling out from several little holes." Mr Frewen took a step forward; there was a sharp report, and he staggered back. "Flit?" cried Mr Preddle, excitedly. "Yes, but not hurt," replied Mr Frewen. "The bullet struck my collar, and it was like something giving me a violent jerk."