"King Jarge for ever!" shouted the crowd.
"Well, then," said the Vicar, "we'll hold our ground here until the yeomanry come up, and then we'll storm the inn. God save the King!"
At this moment Dick pushed his way through the crowd.
"The privateer is under weigh, sir," he cried, "and standing in for the harbour."
All eyes were turned towards the sea. The Aimable Vertu, which had been lying off the headland, almost concealed by the mist, was steering for the fairway, evidently with the intention of coming to the assistance of the landing-party.
"Where's Mr. Mildmay?" cried the Squire. "'Tis for him to capture that rascally privateer."
Doubledick looked conscious; Tonkin and his fishers exchanged glances, and thought of the cargo in the hold of the Isaac and Jacob.
"We can do it, sir," cried Dick suddenly. "She must pass beneath that big rock at the head of the Beal. It doesn't stand steady, and a good push would hurl it over into the fairway. Let the vessel come in, and then block up the channel; she'd be caught then."
"A capital notion," said the Vicar. "Off with you, Dick; take two or three men with you. Have a care not to throw yourself over too."
Dick hurried off with a few of the younger men. When they arrived at the landward end of the Beal, the privateer was slowly threading her course through the fairway towards the jetty, a man in the chains sounding busily. She crept in, and had come within a hundred yards of the jetty when Dick and his companions reached the boulder. They heard the rattle of her anchor; she swung broadside to the village, and the spectators on shore saw a formidable row of guns grinning from her portholes. Dick and his companions set their shoulders to the rock.