She was now well opposite to the Gap, down which the breeze blew straight. In fact the cutter seemed to have too much sail up, and rushed through the water at a tremendous rate.
“She’ll soon catch the lugger going like that, Big,” I said. “Look! Your father’s not going straight away; he’s going more off the land.”
“Yes, because he knows what he’s doing. He wants to get more out so as to catch the wind. You’ll see in a few minutes the cutter won’t go half so fast. Hah! I was afraid of that.”
For just then there was a puff of smoke from the cutter, and we could just make out, by the way it dipped, the round shot that went ricochetting over the sea.
“That will stop him,” I said gloomily.
“No, it will not,” said Bigley angrily. “You don’t know my father. He’ll keep on as long as the lugger will swim.”
I shook my head as I strained my eyes at the exciting chase going on before me.
Bigley was right, for in place of lowering sails in token of submission, the lugger ran out another from her bows, and kept on her rapid flight, altering her course though, so as not to offer so fair a mark to the cutter, and the cutter seemed to spit out viciously another puff of white smoke, and then there was a dull thud and an echo among the rocks.
We could not trace the course of the shot, but it evidently did not hit its mark, the first having probably been aimed ahead.
“They can’t hit her,” cried Bigley, clapping his hands. “Oh, I wish I was aboard.”