"Pick your trees," whispered Bradley. "Can't waste ammunition."
The other men scattered for the various trees they had selected--all except Bradley. He stood watching Tippet and the bear.
"Lie still!" shouted Bradley. "Can't waste ammunition."
The bear halted in its tracks, wheeled toward Bradley and then back again toward Tippet.
"Now run!" Bradley called to Tippet and himself turned in flight toward a nearby tree.
Yet there was enough of what was animal, and of what was fiery (though smouldering), still visible in him, to suggest that if young Bradley Headstone, when a pauper lad, had chanced to be told off for the sea, he would not have been the last man in a ship's crew.
Such were the circumstances that had brought together, Bradley Headstone and young Charley Hexam that autumn evening.
It came out in Miss Peecher the schoolmistress, watering her flowers, as Mr Bradley Headstone walked forth.
If Mr Bradley Headstone had addressed a written proposal of marriage to her, she would probably have replied in a complete little essay on the theme exactly a slate long, but would certainly have replied Yes.
Bradley Headstone and Charley Hexam duly got to the Surrey side of Westminster Bridge, and crossed the bridge, and made along the Middlesex shore towards Millbank.
"We'll run her into the nearest English port," said Bradley, "and then we'll all go ashore and get our V.
Immediately I went on deck to investigate, and Bradley came with me.
We hoisted the Union Jack and remained on deck, asking Bradley to go below and assign to each member of the crew his duty, placing one Englishman with a pistol beside each German.
Bradley had come on deck and was standing beside me.
A second shell passed over us, and then I gave the command to change our direction, at the same time directing Bradley to go below and give the order to submerge.