“Here come the gigs, sir,” said I.

“Give way, then,” said 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 is most likely going around 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.”