“I’m sure of it,” he cried triumphantly. “It will soon be dark, too, and father will run in and out among the rocks where the cutter daren’t follow.”
“To be sure he will,” said the old woman with a nod and a smile. “They will get away if—if—Oh! There goes that horrible gun again!”
The poor creature turned white and hurried away from us to get a better view of the chase, while Bigley and I climbed right up by degrees to the very highest point of the headland and sat upon the rocks watching the long chase, with the cutter, in spite of her superior rig and sailing powers, seeming to get no nearer to her prey, while the evening shadows were descending, and the two vessels kept growing more distant from the Gap.
The cutter continued firing at regular intervals, and once we thought that the lugger was hit. But if she was the shot made no difference to her attempts at escape; and though we stayed up there in our windy look-out, fully expecting to see her lying like a wounded bird upon the water with broken wing, no spar came down, and at last the fugitive and the pursuer had become specks in the distance, fading completely from our sight.
“It’s no use to stay any longer,” I said. “Let’s go down now.”
Bigley strained his eyes westward and seemed unwilling to stir.
“It will be so dark directly we shall have a job to get down,” I said. “Your father’s sure to get away.”
“Yes,” said Bigley; “they’ll never catch him now. He’ll get right away in the darkness.”
Just then there was a familiar hail from below.
“Chowne, ahoy!” I responded; and as we reached to about half-way down we encountered Bob coming up panting and excited.