"You're right, Bill," agreed the rover; "that's my opinion."
The wind had now dropped to no more than a strong breeze and was veering into the north, and no longer coming in gusts.
The whaleboat sailed well, but was steadily being overhauled by the schooner, which, however, was some way to leeward.
The Black Adder now ceased firing, content with the knowledge that, barring accidents, she was sure of her prey.
But for the man at the wheel, none of her crew showed above the bulwarks, and after the castaways had wasted several rounds in a vain attempt to hit the helmsman, Jack laid down his gun in disgust and said,
"Let's cease firing and wait till he's a bit closer. It's no use throwing away ammunition like this."
"I agrees," assented Broncho. "As the kyards lay we-alls is simply wastin' chips. We'll hold our hand some."
"It's the perishin' day he's waitin' for," grumbled Bill, putting aside his smoking rifle and coolly filling his pipe. "He'll just keep station till sun-up, an' then the oratorio'll begin to play again."
The pursuer and pursued now raced along broadside to broadside, less than three cables' lengths separating them.