The men strained at the bars until it seemed as though they would burst their very sinews; another reluctant click or two of the pawl showed that something was at length yielding; and then, first with a slow jerky motion which quickened rapidly, and ended in a mighty surge as the men drove the capstan irresistibly round, the bows of the schooner swerved to seaward, the vessel herself righted, hung for a moment, and then glided off the tail of the bank, finally swinging to her anchor, afloat once more.
“Well done, lads!” I exclaimed joyously, for it was a great relief to me to have the schooner afloat again—a sailor feels just as much out of his element in a stranded ship as he does when he personally is on terra firma—and in the exuberance of my gratification I gave orders to “splice the main brace” preparatory to the troublesome and laborious task of getting the guns and ballast on board once more.
Chapter Sixteen.
The Pirates attempt a Night Attack upon the “Foam.”
The men were busily discussing their “nip” of grog when, mechanically glancing over the black surface of the water which lay spread out on all sides of the ship, my gaze was arrested by a sudden phosphorescent flash on our starboard beam, which was now turned in the direction of the islands we had been watching so suspiciously earlier on in the night. Looking intently I caught it again, and yet again, three or four times.
The gunner at that moment approached me to report that the men were all ready to turn-to once more, upon which I directed his attention to the point at which I had noticed the mysterious appearance, and asked him if he could see anything.
Shading his eyes with his hand, he looked earnestly in the direction indicated.
“N–o, sir, I can’t say as I can,” replied he, after a good long look; “you see, sir, it’s so precious dark just now that there’s no—eh, what was that? I thought I seed something just then, sir,” as another flash appeared, this time sensibly nearer the ship than before.