"Good aim, my lads, this time," cried Swinburne; "the other boat will be alongside as soon as you have fired. Mr Simple, the schooner has headway, and there's a strong breeze coming up."
Again we discharged our ten muskets into the boat, but this time we waited until the bow-man had hooked on the planeshear with his boat-hook, and our fire was very effective. I was surprised to find that the other boat was not on board of us; but a light breeze had come up, and the schooner glided through the water. Still she was close under our counter, and would have been aboard in a minute. In the meantime, the Spaniards who were in the first boat were climbing up the side, and were repulsed by my men with great success. The breeze freshened, and Swinburne ran to the helm. I perceived the schooner was going fast through the water, and the second boat could hardly hold her course. I ran to where the boat-hook was fixed on the planeshear, and unhooked it; the boat fell astern, leaving two Spaniards clinging to the side, who were cut down, and they fell into the water. "Hurrah! all safe!" cried Swinburne; "and now to punish them."
The schooner was now darting along at the rate of five miles, with an increasing breeze. We stood in for two minutes, then tacked, and ran for the boats. Swinburne steered, and I continued standing in the bows, surrounded by the rest of the men. "Starboard a little, Swinburne."— "Starboard it is."
"Steady—steady: I see the first boat, she is close under our bows. Steady—port—port—port a little—port. Look out, my lads, and cut down all who climb up."
Crash went the schooner on to the boat, the men in her in vain endeavouring to escape us. For a second or two she appeared to right, until her further gunwale was borne down under the water; she turned up, and the schooner went over her, sending every soul in her to their account. One man clung on to a rope, and was towed for a few seconds, but a cutlass divided the rope at the gunwale, and with a faint shriek he disappeared. The other boat was close to us, and perceived what had been done. They remained with their oars poised, all ready to pull so as to evade the schooner. We steered for her, and the schooner was now running at the rate of seven miles an hour. When close under our bows, by very dexterously pulling short round with their starboard oars, we only struck her with our bow; and before she went down many of the Spaniards had gained the deck, or were clinging to the side of the vessel. They fought with desperation, but we were too strong for them. It was only those who had gained the deck which we had to contend with. The others clung for a time, and, unable to get up the sides, one by one dropped into the water and went astern. In a minute, those on deck were lying at our feet, and in a minute more they were tossed overboard after their companions; not, however, until one of them struck me through the calf of the leg with his knife as we were lifting him over the gunwale. I do not mean to say that the Spaniards were not justified in attempting to take the schooner; but still, as we had liberated them but a few hours before, we felt that it was unhandsome and treacherous on their part, and therefore showed them no quarter. There were two of my men wounded as well as myself, but not severely, which was fortunate, as we had no surgeon on board, and only about half a yard of a diachylum plaster in the vessel.
"Well out of that, sir," said Swinburne, as I limped aft. "By the Lord
Harry! it might have been a pretty go."
Having shaped our course for Barbadoes, I dressed my leg and went down to sleep. This time I did not dream of Celeste, but fought the Spaniards over again, thought I was wounded, and awoke with the pain of my leg.
Chapter LI
Peter turned out of his command by his vessel turning bottom up—A cruise on a main-boom, with sharks en attendant—Self and crew, with several flying fish, taken on board a negro boat—Peter regenerates by putting on a new outward man.
We made Barbadoes without any further adventure, and were about ten miles off the bay, steering with a very light breeze, and I went down into the cabin, expecting to be at anchor before breakfast the next morning. It was just daylight, when I found myself thrown out of my bed-place on the deck, on the other side of the cabin, and heard the rushing of water. I sprang up, I knew the schooner was on her beam ends, and gained the deck. I was correct in my supposition: she had been upset by what is called a white squall, and in two minutes would be down. All the men were up on deck, some dressed, others, like myself, in their shirts. Swinburne was aft; he had an axe in his hand, cutting away the rigging of the main-boom. I saw what he was about; I seized another, and disengaged the jaw-rope and small gear about the mast. We had no other chance; our boat was under the water, being hoisted up on the side to leeward. All this, however, was but the work of two minutes; and I could not help observing by what trifles lives are lost or saved. Had the axe not been fortunately at the capstern, I should not have been able to cut the jaw-rope, Swinburne would not have had time, and the main-boom would have gone down with the schooner. Fortunately we had cleared it; the schooner filled, righted a little, and then sank, dragging us and the main-boom for a few seconds down in its vortex, and then we rose to the surface.