The cutter came bearing swiftly down on us.
“Jiggered if it ain’t one of our own boats!” sang out Ned, cutting a caper of delight. Then he mounted upon a thwart, waving his cap and yelling till he was nearly as black in the face as Sambo.
What an excitement it was!
After all our perils and adventures we were safe at last.
The next moment I was wringing the hand of my chum, Charlie Balfour, who was in charge of the cutter, and who seemed to have quite recovered from the wound in the head which he had received in the first engagement. His joy at having been the means of rescuing us the reader can well imagine.
“I’ve a good mind to try to sink the other boat,” he said; “but perhaps I had better take you fellows straight back to the Rattler, and make my report to the captain.”
“Where is the old hooker?” I asked.
Charlie laughed and pointed seawards.
“Don’t you see her hove-to there, just in the light of the sun?” he asked. “There is a little breeze out there. After we shoved off she went in chase of a suspicious-looking vessel in the offing, but has evidently returned disappointed. We’ll have you on board in about an hour.”
There was our dear old ship, sure enough. So taken up with the brig and our pursuers had we been that we had never looked ahead to see if any vessels had hove in sight.