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 crashed through the bottom of the boat, carrying down one of the enemy with it.

It did not make a round hole in the bottom of the boat, it was afterwards ascertained, as it might if it had been fired from one of the broadside guns, but it tore off the planking, and made a hole as big as the head of a flour-barrel.
"Lay hold of that man on the accommodation ladder!" shouted Christy, without waiting to observe the effect of his shot, for the man who had succeeded in mounting the side was armed with a dangerous weapon, which he was likely to use as soon as he found the opportunity.
The men forward of the point where the boat had come alongside had been ordered aft, and a couple of them dragged the venturesome officer, as his frock-coat indicated that he was, to the deck.