“N–n–no, I can’t say I do, Hawkesley, under her present disguise.”
“Disguise, my dear sir; she is not disguised at all. That is the pirate-brig which destroyed poor Richards’ vessel—the Juliet. And—yes—there can scarcely be a doubt about it—she must be the notorious Black Venus of which the Yankee skipper told us.”
Smellie looked at me in great surprise and perplexity for a moment.
“Upon my word, Hawkesley, I verily believe you are right!” he exclaimed at last. “The Black Venus—a negress for a figure-head—ha! are you hurt?”
“Not much, I think,” stammered I, as I braced myself resolutely against the wheel, determined that I would not give in. The fact was, that whilst we were talking another shot had been fired through the companion doors, and had struck me fairly in the right shoulder, inflicting such severe pain that for the moment I felt quite incapable of using my right arm. Fortunately the schooner now steered pretty easily, and I could manage the wheel with one hand.
“We must stop this somehow,” said Smellie, again jumping on the rail and taking a long look ahead.
“Do you see that very tall tree shooting up above the rest, almost directly ahead?” he continued, pointing out the object as he turned to me.
I replied that I did.
“Well, steer straight for it then, and I will fetch aft some hatch-covers—there are several forward—and place them against the doors; I think I can perhaps contrive to rig up a bullet-proof screen for you.”
“But you are hurt yourself, sir,” I protested.