The Duke William kept on after the brigantine, her mixed crew yelling with joy, now that they were to have an action.
Bang! Bang!
Her two forward guns spoke, and a shot went ripping through one of the foresails of the pirate.
This was enough for the fighting spirit of those who sailed the Spanish Main. For, putting about, the brigantine scudded through a narrow channel, known only to her skipper (for no one else could have followed without grounding upon a sand-spit), and was soon running away upon the opposite side of a low-lying island, now flaunting the pirate-flag from her halyards.
“She’s gone!” sadly remarked the gallant Captain Walker, “but we can capture the gun-battery. Make ready to go ashore, if needed!”
Steering for the coast, the guns of the Duke William opened upon the sandy barricade, and shot after shot was soon making the dirt and gravel fly in every direction:
Poom! Poom! Cu-poom!
The cannon in the earth-work next began to speak, and, it was apparent, from the strange noises which some of them made, that they were full of rust.
Cu-Poom! Cu-Pow! Chuck-chuck-cu-swash! they roared, and a few balls began to whistle about the spars of the Duke William.
There were some accurate marksmen upon the deck of the British vessel, and, as she lay broadside to the fortification, one well-aimed shot struck a cannon and dismounted it; while another shattered the flag-pole and brought down the flag with a crash.