Captain Flint was bending over something on the foredeck that glittered in the sun. It was the little brass cannon.
“It’s the cannon,” said Roger. “He’s going to fire.”
Captain Flint straightened himself sharply. An enormous puff of blue smoke hid him for a moment, and there was a bang that echoed again and again between the hills on either side of the lake.
“Hurrah!” yelled Captain Nancy.
“Hurrah!” shouted Peggy.
“Hurrah!” shouted the whole ship’s company in Swallow .
Captain Flint was busy again with the little cannon. He poured something into it out of a tin. Then he pushed something into it. Then he put it in its place, and took a pinch of something from the tin, and put it in the touch-hole of the little cannon. He lit a match, bent down once more over the cannon and again stood up sharply, this time putting his hands over his ears. There was another cloud of smoke, and a terrific bang. Something dropped in the water, between the houseboat and the advancing fleet.
“It’s only the wad,” shouted Nancy.
“At him before he can fire again,” shouted John.
But Captain Flint was no mean gunner and, just as Swallow slipped by under the stern of the houseboat, there was another crash from the cannon, and the smoke and the smell of gunpowder drove over the little ship.
“Let go halyards,” John and Nancy shouted almost at the same moment, as Swallow and Amazon shot up on opposite sides of the houseboat.