was not a large one, and it did not contain more than a dozen
men; but the fine form of Captain Carboneer could be seen, as he stood
up in the stern sheets. Those who were not pulling the oars began to
discharge revolvers at the men now mounted on the rail; but the motion
of the boat and the ship seemed to defeat their aim, and no one was hit
so far as was known.

"When the boat comes alongside, let the man who is in the right place
for it drop his shot into it. Be careful of it, and don't waste the
iron," shouted Christy, when the decisive moment came.

"All ready, sir," responded the men along the rail.

"You are the man, Boxie! You are in the right place for the first shot,"
added the midshipman.

Boxie was next to him, and it would be Christy's turn next if the old
man failed to do good work with his shot. The boat came alongside, and
a bowman fastened his boathook at the side of the ship, and held it in
place. At the same moment Boxie let drive his sixty-pound shot; but he
ought to have waited an instant longer, for the missile dropped
harmlessly into the river.

The bowman had not obtained a good hold, and he lost it, so that the
boat began to drift astern. Captain Carboneer shouted his orders, and
the man got a new hold, and this time it was at the painter of the boat
in which Sampson had brought off Mr. Watts and the ladies. It had been
forgotten in the excitement of the moment, but the rope afforded a good
hold to several men who had grasped it.

At this thrilling moment, a man wearing a frock-coat discharged a
revolver at Christy, who was standing on the rail above him, and then,
seizing the painter in the hands of the men, he climbed briskly to the
accommodation steps, which had been hoisted up, but not taken on board.

Christy was in the most dangerous position on board, for he seemed to
be the target for all who could use their revolvers. But the young
commander was not asleep, though he had given no order for the last
minute or two. The boat was directly under him, and he had put his
pistol in his hip-pocket, in order to take up the solid shot at his
feet. It was heavy, but he lifted it over his head without any
difficulty, and launched it into the boat with all the force he could
give to it.

"On deck, there! Let go that painter!" shouted Christy, as he pitched
his missile from his hands.

He was in a position so favorable for the operation that he could not
well miss his aim, and the shot cra