I perceived at but a few hundred yards distance a trimly-rigged schooner of moderate size, and I recognized at a glance one of the vessels of the coast-guard, named the Lightning. I had too often been on board her, and had sketched her too often under every possible arrangement of sails, to be deceived in her.
"That is the Lightning," I exclaimed.
At the same moment that the cutter went about, the Lightning also altered her course and bore down on us.
"Boat ahoy!" came through a speaking trumpet over the dash of the waves.
My heart seemed to stop beating; my hand lay on the butt of my pistol. If Pinnow laid the cutter to, his treachery was proven.
"Boat ahoy!" came over the water again.
"Haul aft the foresail!" ordered Pinnow.
I breathed again. Pinnow's order was equivalent to sauve qui peut.
"Boat ahoy!" came their hail for the third time, and almost in the same moment there was a flash on board the Lightning, and the report of a musket, deadened by the distance and the plashing of the waves, reached my ear.
"Shake out that reef in the jib!" ordered Pinnow.