he high poop whenever he could
get a shot at the captain; and now, too, Mr Brooke was firing off his
small-shot cartridges as rapidly as possible, the salt water not having
penetrated the well-wadded powder enclosed in the brass cases.

By this time we were fifty yards away from the junk, and gliding more
rapidly through the water, which was splashed up about us and the boat
hit again and again with a sharp rap by the slugs from the Chinamen's
matchlocks.

The men were returning the fire with good effect as we more than once
saw, and twice over one of the wretches who sought to hurl a blazing pot
of fire was brought down.

"They can't hurt us now," I thought, as I ceased firing, knowing that my
small-shot would be useless at the distance we now were, when I saw a
spark of light moving on the poop, and then sat paralysed by horror as I
grasped what was going to take place. It was only a moment or two
before there was a great flash and a roar, with a puff of
sunset-reddened smoke, hiding the poop of the junk; for they had
depressed a big swivel gun to make it bear upon us, and then fired,
sending quite a storm of shot, stones, and broken pieces of iron
crashing through the roof of our little cabin, and tearing a great hole
in our sail.

"That's done it!" shouted Tom Jecks, giving the stock of his rifle a
heavy slap.

"You've hit him?" cried Mr Brooke.

"Yes, sir; I caught him as he stood by watching the cannon fired."

"Yes, that's right," cried Mr Brooke, shading his eyes and gazing hard
at the scene on the high poop, where, in the last rays of the setting
sun, we could see men holding up their captain, who was distinctive from
his gay attire and lacquered hat, which now hung forward as the
scoundrel's head drooped upon his breast.

"Cease firing!" said Mr Brooke, for we were a hundred yards away now,
and rapidly increasing the distance. "We can do no more good. Thank
you, Jecks. Now then, who is hurt?"

There was no reply.

"What, no one?" cried Mr Brooke.

"Yes, sir: why don't you speak out, Tom Jecks? You got it, didn't you?"

"Well, so did you; but I arn't going to growl."

"More arn't I, messmate. It's nothing much, sir."

"Let me see," said Mr Brooke, as we sailed steadily away, while the
junk still remained stationary; and, after a rapid examination, he
plugged and bound a wound in the man's shoulder, and performed a similar
operation upon Tom Jeck's hind-leg, as he called it, a bullet or s