“We had one, once, point-blank under our starboard battery on the Sir John, but the rascal took to his heels and ran us out of sight too quickly to tell about it. He came into the wind and shot under our stern while we expected nothing but for him to strike; and before we could bring our battery to bear, we had to wear ship, so he escaped with only a few scattering shots. Lord Ralston cut off the grog for a fortnight to get even with his chagrin and disappointment.”
Captain Risk now had one chance to evade the Roebuck. That was to lighter his cargo enough to let his ship weather the bar at Egg Harbor Inlet. The Roebuck would then be outside, pounding away in the deep water, waiting for his prey to come out.
Extending along the Atlantic Coast from Sandy Hook to the Gulf of Mexico, are numerous inlets or openings between low, sandy islands back of which is deep water and safety; but only light-draught vessels can enter these inlets. The ebb and flow of the tides keep a shallow channel open, but the heavy seas of the ocean wash the sands into a bar and the tide is not powerful enough to cut a very deep channel.
One of these sand-bars was at the entrance of Egg Harbor Inlet. A deep channel led from behind the low-lying islands, until the outflowing tide met the action of the sea-ways and there formed an eddy that deposited the sands into the bar, which was about one hundred feet wide, and on each side of which was deep water. The current was deflected to the southward, outside the bar, so that the channel was like the letter “L,” the bar being in the angle.
When steering into the inlet the pilot must approach for a considerable distance, parallel to the beach and at the critical point turn sharply to port, or else land high and dry on as ugly a beach as ever lured a mariner.
But, driven like a fox seeking cover, Captain Risk made straight for this hole at Egg Harbor Inlet. The seas were going over the bar and breaking into foam at every wave; a mile of breakers roared on each side of the thread-like channel from the deep water to the sandy beach of the islands.
The Roebuck was now hauling grandly into the chase. Thirty minutes more and the Holker would be under the batteries of a forty-four-gun ship.
“Now, lads,” remarked the little Yankee skipper, “if you heave out that cargo with a will and nary an eyebolt lets loose, I’ll put the Holker into that hole yonder or we’ll pound our lives out on the treacherous Jersey sands,” as he stepped forward and took the wheel into his own hands.
“All hands at stations!” was the last command after guns were lashed and hatches battened down.
The seas were running fearfully high from the sou’east after the all-night gale. The breakers could be seen for unlimited stretches right ahead, rolling surge upon surge. The ship followed a streak of blue water midst the white foam.