And here the groans from two poor fellows who had been hit were heard from
the bottom of the launch. The cutter was by this time close to us, on the
larboard side, commanded by Mr Julius Caesar Tip, the senior midshipman,
vulgarly called in the ship Bathos, from his rather unromantic name. Here
also a low moaning evinced the precision of the Frenchmen's fire.

"Lord, Mr Treenail, a sharp brush that was."

"Hush!" quoth Treenail. At this moment three rockets hissed up into the
dark sky, and for an instant the hull and rigging of the sloop of war at
anchor in the river glanced in the blue--white glare, and vanished again,
like a spectre, leaving us in more thick darkness than before.

"Gemini! what is that now?" quoth Tip again, as we distinctly heard the
commixed rumbling and rattling sound of artillery scampering along the
dike.

"The ship has sent up these rockets to warn us of our danger," said Mr
Treenail. "What is to be done? Ah, Splinter, we are in a scrape--there
they have brought up field--pieces, don't you hear?"

Splinter had heard it as well as his junior officer. "True enough,
Treenail; so the sooner we make a dash through the opening the better."

"Agreed."

By some impulse peculiar to British sailors, the men were just about
cheering, when their commanding officer's voice controlled them. "Hark,
my brave fellows, silence, as you value your lives."