The answer was a cheer, and then all eyes were directed to the boats, which were coming faster through the water now, till, at a command from the foremost stern-sheets, the men slackened and waited for their consort to come up abreast.
Another command was given, when the oars dipped faster all together, the boats dividing so as to take the schooner starboard and port.
“Not going to summon us to surrender?” said the skipper sharply. “Very well; but I think we shall make them speak.”
The two boys stood together in the stern, close to the wheel, seeing the boats divide and pass them on either hand; and then with hearts throbbing they waited for what was to come—and not for long.
Matters moved quickly now, till the boats bumped and grazed against the schooner’s sides, two sharp orders rang out as their coxswains hooked on, and then with a strange snarling roar their crews began to scramble up to the bulwarks, and with very bad success. They had not far to go, for the schooner’s bulwarks were very low for a sea-going vessel, but here was the main defence, the nets fully ten feet high and very strong—a defence suggestive of the old gladiatorial fight between the Retiarius, or net and trident-bearer, and the Secutor, or sword and shield-carrying man-at-arms.
There was no firing then; the Spaniards seized the net and began to climb, some becoming entangled, as in their hurry a leg or an arm slipped through, while the defenders dashed at them and brought their capstan-bars into use, crack and thud resounding, sending some back upon their companions, others into the boats, while three or four splashes announced the fall of unfortunates into the water.
Loud shouts came from the boats as the officers urged the men on, and from each an officer in uniform began to climb now and lead, followed by quite a crowd on either side, some of them hacking at the stout cord with their cutlasses, but doing little mischief, crippled as they were by the sharp blows which were hailed down by the schooner’s crew, upon hand, foot, and now and then upon some unlucky head.
Chips the carpenter, who was nothing without making some improvement upon the acts of his fellows, made a dash at the officer leading the attacking boat on the starboard side, delivering a thrust with the bar he carried, which passed right through the large mesh of the net, catching the Spaniard in the chest and sending him backwards into the boat.
“That’s what I calls a Canterbury poke, dear boys,” he cried. “Let ’em have it, my lads. The beggars look like so many flies in a spider’s web; and we are the spiders.”