From the bows of the galleon came a spout of white smoke, blown back amid the sails and rigging, and disappearing in a long wispy trail to leeward. The report of the gun followed close, and the shot plumped into the sea less than twenty yards astern.
"Be jowned if it do not put me in mind of brave doings on the Anne Gallant" said Turnpenny. "'Twas well aimed; an they get our range, 'tis heigh for our pearls and pieces of eight!"
A second shot came, falling about the same distance short of the mark. A third and fourth followed at intervals, neither hitting the vessel, each failure greeted with a yell from the crew, who seemed now to have lost their terror in the sheer excitement of the chase. On swept the gallant Mirandola, showers of spray flashing over her bows, her slender masts swaying and creaking under the stress of her bellying canvas. Then a shot whistled over the masthead.
"Too high, too high!" shouted Amos. "She's got our range now, to a surety; would they but depress the gun and our cockle-shell would be shivered to splinters. Jan Biddle be a better man than I took him for; see the sinews of his arms as he grips the helm. My heart! but he be a mazy Jack to think he can 'scape that tantarabobs. Ah!"
His final exclamation was occasioned by the effect of another shot from the enemy's bow-chaser. It struck the taffrail, and cast up a huge splinter which flew straight across the poop. Next moment Jan Biddle was stretched senseless beside the helm, and the helm taking charge, the ship ran off before the wind. The crew were aghast. Biddle was their captain, but he was more; he was the soul of their enterprise. Without him they were as a flock of sheep. Not a man of them was fit to direct. Some cried out for surrendering; the bolder spirits howled them down, swearing it were better to sink with the ship than to return to the servitude from which they had but lately escaped. When Biddle fell, Amos, with the instinct of the mariner, had rushed towards the unmanned helm.
"Sir, 'tis our turn," he called to Dennis. "Let us do what we can to save this vessel, and od-rabbit the mutineers!"
He leapt to the helm, seized it in his iron grip, and brought the ship once more to the wind.
"See!" said Dennis at his side. "Yonder streak on the horizon is surely the mainland. Is not our only chance to win the coast? We cannot escape by mere sailing, but there will be shallows amid which perchance we may slip away as at Maiden Isle. Shall we not attempt it, Amos?"
"Ay, ay, sir. We'll run inshore, and methinks I know a trick will help us."
At this moment another shot fell and ploughed up the deck, striking up a shower of splinters in all directions. Again arose cries for surrender; but Dennis shouted to the frantic men: