“Yes, my lad, I know; but I want to make sure of a little more light.—Fire!” he said, directly afterwards.
A spark was seen to sink at once upon the touch-hole of the long gun, there was a deep roar as she seemed to leap from the deck, a heavy instantaneous crash, and then a return shot which went wide of their schooner.
“You’ve hit, Joe,” cried Rodd excitedly, as he stood amidst the smoke, which began to spread about where they gathered.
“Yes, sir, I hit,” said the man, with a half-laugh, as the crew of the gun busied themselves sponging out and preparing to re-load. “They pretty well filled her to the muzzle, but they got what they meant for us. But hallo! what’s the meaning of this ’ere? What’s the matter with us now?”
Only this, that the Maid of Salcombe was adrift and threatening, if something were not done to bring her up, to drift ashore not far from where the faint morning light revealed the brig lying right over on her side as helpless as any hulk.
Joe Cross, closely followed by the lads, ran forward to the bows, Rodd one side, Joe and Morny the other.
“Why, the cable must have broke adrift,” cried the coxswain, leaning over, to see that the great rope was hanging down straight from the starboard hawse-hole.
“Cut, Joe, cut,” shouted Rodd. “Quick! Look out!” For as he had leaned over the bulwarks just above the larboard hawse-hole, a great swarthy mulatto, knife in hand, was climbing up, and as soon as he caught sight of the lad he made for him at once.
Rodd stood upon his guard and managed to strike aside the thrust made at him by the mulatto; but the latter was lithe and active as a monkey. He struck at the boy again, and as Rodd gave way the fellow threw himself on to the rail and sprang over, but only to be cut down by Joe Cross, who had answered the boy’s call.