The ports of the man-of-war were triced up, and by the gleam of the battle lantern, the gunners could be seen standing by their pieces.
“Ay, ay. Come to, under the stern, and report on board at six o’clock in the morning.”
“Ay, ay,” was the reply; and “Hard a-lee! Haul aft the main sheet!” were shouted, in loud tones, on board the brigantine.
The officer of the deck, who could distinguish nothing, hearing these orders, was for an instant deceived—an instant that was the salvation of the brigantine, going twelve knots under the combined force of wind and tide. Perceiving immediately that it was a ruse, he gave orders to fire. The horizon was lit up by the flash of guns, and the midnight stillness broken by the roar of cannon. But so well had the brigantine improved her opportunity, that but one or two of the forward guns were brought to bear on her.
As the iron shower came hurtling on, and passed, a groan was heard near the foot of the main-mast. It came from little Ned, who was struck as he came aft with an order from the pilot.
“Bear it like a man, Neddie,” cried Walter, as he held him in his arms. “Are you hurt much?”
“Yes, bad, Walter.” And he fainted.
“Take care of him,” said the captain, “till the vessel is brought to.”
For a few moments every one was exerting himself to the utmost, in order to bring the vessel, under such a press of sail, to anchor under the guns of the castle of St. Nicolas.