“Couldn’t you manage to put a ball through him?” continued the lieutenant.
Arrison half started from his seat as if he had himself been shot.
“By the Lord,” he cried, a gleam of savage delight breaking over his face, “it’s the very thing. Why didn’t I think of it?”
He seized a loaded musket as he spoke, turned, took rapid but sure aim, and fired.
It was all done so quickly, that Kate, who had sprung up as soon as she comprehended the plan, in order to knock down the refugee’s gun, had not time to effect her purpose, before the report sounded heavily on the evening air.
“He’s hit,” cried Arrison, with a hurrah, not seeming to notice Kate, and leaving his lieutenant, who pulled the stroke oar, to drag her down again. “See, they stop.”
As he spoke, the crew of the pursuing boat ceased rowing, and the two nearest rushed aft, for the coxswain had fallen across the seat, as if dead. When they lifted him up he had every appearance of being lifeless.
For the first time, on that agitating day, Kate burst into tears. The hopes of rescue, but a moment before, had amounted almost to a certainty; but now it would be impossible, she knew, for the pursuers to overtake the refugees.
The patriots apparently had come to the same conclusion, for one of them suddenly took up a musket, as if their only hope was in disabling the refugees in turn; but just as he was about to fire, a companion knocked the gun down, pointing vehemently, as if at Kate.
“Oh! if they would but disregard me and fire,” she cried to herself.