We took it very easily as we pulled shoreward, in line abreast, for it was by this time scorching hot, and it was important that the men’s strength should be husbanded to the utmost extent, in view of the possible fight that might be awaiting us at the end of our journey; but I kept a sharp lookout ahead, for, although the country in sight showed no sign of habitations, there was no knowing how soon a masked battery on one, or perhaps each, of the headlands might declare itself by dropping a few shot among us. Nothing, however, happened to hinder our progress over the glass-smooth surface of the water, and in the course of about twenty minutes we reached the opening between the two headlands, and found ourselves in the mouth of a small, practically land-locked cove of some twenty acres in area, with our friend the brigantine in the very centre of it, with four anchors down—two ahead and two astern—with boarding nettings triced up, ports open, guns run out—eight long 12-pounders in each battery—and her starboard broadside bearing full upon the entrance!
“There she is!” exclaimed a dozen eager voices in chorus; and, while the words were still upon our lips, eight jets of flame burst from her side, followed by eight wreaths of whirling white smoke that instantly commingled, forming a curtain that completely hid her long low black hull from us, and as a shower of grape came hurtling about our ears I saw a big black flag go slowly soaring up to her main truck!
“A self-confessed pirate, by the Piper!” exclaimed Fred Gascoigne, who had calmly crawled out from under the bow-sheets of my boat when we were half-way between the frigate and the shore. “Now—”
“Give way, men!” shouted Gadsby, springing to his feet in the stern-sheets of the launch, and waving his sword above his head. “Give way, and get alongside before they can fire again. Gunners, fire slap at his bulwarks, and we’ll board in the smoke. Marines, fire in through the open ports. Hurrah, lads, put your backs into it!”
At that moment, as the smoke of the brigantine’s broadside thinned away and permitted us again to catch a glimpse of her hull, I noticed a peculiarity about the craft that seemed to offer us a very important advantage; her captain had, in fact, committed the same oversight as the Frenchman in Pleher Bay, and I instantly hailed:
“Launch ahoy! Do you notice, Mr Gadsby, that she has no nettings triced up on her port side? Apparently they are making certain that we intend to go alongside on her starboard side, and—”
“By Jove! Yes, you are right, Delamere,” answered Gadsby. “We will board her on the port side. First cutter on the port quarter; second cutter on her port bow. Keep up your fire, marines. Now, gunners, as soon as you are ready, blaze away!”
The three boat-guns spoke at almost the same instant, and so close were we now to our quarry that our grape-shot literally tore her starboard bulwarks to pieces, and a terrific outburst of shrieks and yells that instantly followed upon the discharge bore eloquent evidence to the terrible havoc that it had wrought among her crew. The moment that we had fired the boats separated, the first cutter making a wide sweep to port in order to pass under the brigantine’s counter,
while we sheered away to starboard to get under her bows, the launch passing outside of us in order to get a fair run for the brigantine’s waist.