PART FOUR: The Stockade
Chapter 17: Narrative Continued by the Doctor: The Jolly-boat's Last Trip
"Mr. Trelawney, out and away," said I.
"Mr. Trelawney, will you please pick me off one of
these men, sir? Hands, if possible," said the captain.
Trelawney was as cool as steel. He looked to the
priming of his gun.
"Now," cried the captain, "easy with that gun, sir, or
you'll swamp the boat. All hands stand by to trim her
when he aims."
The squire raised his gun, the rowing ceased, and we leaned
over to the other side to keep the balance, and all was so
nicely contrived that we did not ship a drop.
They had the gun, by this time, slewed round upon the
swivel, and Hands, who was at the muzzle with the
rammer, was in consequence the most exposed. However,
we had no luck, for just as Trelawney fired, down he
stooped, the ball whistled over him, and it was one of
the other four who fell.
The cry he gave was echoed not only by his companions
on board but by a great number of voices from the
shore, and looking in that direction I saw the other
pirates trooping out from among the trees and tumbling
into their places in the boats.
"Here come the gigs, sir," said I.
"Give way, then," cried the captain. "We mustn't mind
if we swamp her now. If we can't get ashore, all's up."
"Only one of the gigs is being manned, sir," I added;
"the crew of the other most likely going round by shore
to cut us off."
"They'll have a hot run, sir," returned the captain.
"Jack ashore, you know. It's not them I mind; it's the
round-shot. Carpet bowls! My lady's maid couldn't
miss. Tell us, squire, when you see the match, and
we'll hold water."