To the astonishment of all, the firing on board the enemy ceased; another sail was run up, and as it filled the schooner swung round upon another tack and began to sail steadily down the river, clearing the way for those on board the English vessel to see a couple of well-manned boats being rowed steadily up-stream, with men in the stern-sheets keeping up a musketry fire.
“Quick!” shouted Moray. “Another shot! Friends! Friends!”
“Yes, sir,” said Joe quietly, “but I don’t see how it’s to be done. Yes, we might do it from a little gun;” and he ran with a part of the crew to try and slew her round.
“No good, gentlemen,” he said. “By the time we can get a shot off we shall risk hitting those boats, whatever they are, and they are coming to our help. Here, hasn’t anybody got a glass?”
“No,” cried Rodd; “it was left in the boat.”
“Well, there’s one in the cabin. Here, one of you run down.”
“No, no,” cried Morny excitedly; “they’re our boats. Look! That’s my father in one,” he cried hysterically.
“And if that aren’t our old man in the other my name aren’t Joe Cross!”