Neither Mike nor his men were foolhardy enough to attempt to resist firearms with their weapons, and judging discretion the better part of valor, they retreated towards the hut, while the raiders maintained an intermittent fusillade of bullets. Suddenly there was a dull thud, a sharp cry from Mike and the bo’sun crumpled up and fell to the ground.
Seizing him by the arms, his men were about to drag him to safety when he jerked himself free and rose unsteadily to his feet.
“Bad cess to thim!” he roared. “’Tis me foine lig they’re afther sp’ilin’ entoirely! An’ thot costin’ av sivinty-foive bucks! B’gorra, they’ll be afther payin’ fer it or me name’s not Mike O’Malley!”
Before they could gain the hut, the marksmen’s aim had become dangerously accurate and the men were compelled to seek safety behind the casks of oil that stood near. Here they squatted, ruefully watching the brig’s crew as they hurriedly proceeded to load the oil barrels into their boats.
“Faith, if we had thim guns in the shanty ’twould not be a stalin’ so aisy they’d be afther doin’!” Mike declared. “B’gorra, Oi’m thinkin’ we moight be afther sn’akin’ there an’ gettin’ av thim. Will anny av yez foller me?”
All four men answered in the affirmative, and throwing themselves flat on their stomachs, the five wormed their way towards the shanty, their movements concealed from the raiders by the tiers of oil-filled casks. In safety they gained the hut and entered, and hastily arming his men with the boys’ shot guns and two muskets, and providing himself with the only remaining firearm, a bomb lance, Mike broke open a case of shells and distributed the ammunition to his men. Then, realizing that the range was far too great for the shot guns and also that the flimsy boards and canvas walls of the hut were but a poor protection from flying bullets, the bo’sun instructed his men to crawl back to the shelter of the oil-casks.
Hardly had they done so, when the raiders, having sent aboard to the brig the last of the casks that had been rolled to the beach, started forward, intent on securing those behind which the whalemen crouched. Thinking, no doubt, that the Americans had no firearms, and counting on their retreating without resistance, the Portuguese advanced without firing, but holding their guns in readiness.
Fortunately for them, Mike was far too hot-headed and excited to hold his fire until the raiders were within easy range, and before they had proceeded fifty yards, flashes spurted from behind the casks and bullets and buckshot plowed up the sand and sung through the air about the Portuguese. Utterly surprised at the unexpected volley, the raiders hesitated for an instant, and then fired wildly at the pile of casks. Then, an answering shot spat from the barricade and as two of their number threw up their hands and plunged forward, the raiders commenced to retreat, and when a bomb from Mike’s gun burst in their midst, they flung aside guns and fairly raced towards the boat.
Leaping in, they shoved off and bent to their oars, while about them splashed and spattered the bullets of the victorious whalemen.
And then, from those on shore, a mighty shout went up and the beaten raiders turned to see a trim, white whaleboat racing towards them from beyond the point.