A general discharge from a broadside of carronades, and a heavy volley of muskets from the Portuguese, was the decided answer. The broadside, too much elevated to hit the low hull of the schooner, was still not without effect—the foretopmast fell, the jaws of the main-gaff were severed, and a large proportion of the standing as well as the running rigging came rattling down on her decks. The volley of musketry was more fatal: thirteen of the pirates were wounded, some of them severely.
'Well done, John Portuguese!' cried Hawkhurst; 'by the holy poker! I never gave you credit for so much pluck.'
'Which they shall pay dearly for,' was the cool reply of Cain, as he still remained in his exposed situation.
'Blood for blood! if I drink it,' observed the second mate, as he looked at the crimson rivulet trickling down the fingers of his left hand from a wound in his arm—'just tie my handkerchief round this, Bill.'
In the interim, Cain had desired his crew to elevate their guns, and the broadside was returned.
'That will do, my lads: starboard; ease off the boomsheet; let her go right round, Hawkhurst—we cannot afford to lose our men.'
The schooner wore round, and ran astern of her opponent.
The Portuguese on board the ship, imagining that the schooner, finding she had met with unexpected resistance, had sheered off, gave a loud cheer.
'The last you will ever give, my fine fellows!' observed Cain, with a sneer.
In a few moments the schooner had run a mile astern of the ship.