"I think that will rouse the Dutchmen up."
A minute later it was evident that the shot had at least had that
effect. Two puffs of smoke spirted out from the stern of the Dutch
flagship, and, simultaneously with the roar of the guns, came the hum
of two heavy shot flying overhead. Delighted at having excited the
Dutchmen's wrath at last, the crew of the _Fan Fan_ took off their
hats and gave a loud cheer, and then, more earnestly than before,
settled down to work; their guns aimed now, as at first, at the
port-holes. Four or five shots were discharged from each of the
little guns before the Dutch were ready again. Then came the
thundering reports. The _Fan Fan's_ topmast was carried away by one
of the shot, but the other went wide. Two or three men were told to
cut away the wreckage, and the rest continued their fire. One of the
next shots of the enemy was better directed. It struck the deck close
to the foot of the mast, committed great havoc in Cyril's cabin, and
passed out through the stern below the water-line. Cyril leapt down
the companion as he heard the crash, shouting to the boatswain to
follow him. The water was coming through the hole in a great jet.
Cyril seized a pillow and--stuffed it into the shot-hole, being
drenched from head to foot in the operation. One of the sailors had
followed the boatswain, and Cyril called him to his assistance.
"Get out the oars at once," he said to the boatswain. "Another shot
like this and she will go down.
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