“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the mate; “a stern chase is a long one.”
“If we had the good fortune to cripple him, we should be safe; but have the men ready to run the two guns over, and fire as I go about. Send Adams to the wheel, and let the men stand by the sheets and braces.”
Mr Lowe was a steady, cool, courageous officer, and his dispositions were soon made. All was quiet on board the brig as she slipped through the water; while the schooner, her decks literally covered with men, came up rapidly, evidently intending to board.
Captain Weber stood on the weather quarter, as the wicked little craft came sweeping up, her enormous mainsail well filled, and her sharp bows cutting the water like a knife. She had a flush deck fore and aft, and forward was built like a wedge. There appeared to be no ports.
“Schooner, ahoy!” shouted he, as the two craft neared each other.
A musket-shot was the reply, which missed. The captain raised his hand, and the roar of the two nine-pounders was heard. Down came the schooner’s foresail, as she flew up into the wind, and a yell of vengeance, mingled with cries of pain, rose from her crowded decks.
“Run the guns over!” shouted the captain. “Man the starboard head-braces! Tend the boom-sheet! Haul on the weather-braces and jib-sheet! Hard a-port, Adams, hard a-port!”
Shooting up into the wind, the brig payed round on her heel, the two guns being again fired into the schooner’s bows, as the sails filled, and the “Halcyon” stood on the other tack.
“Hurrah, my lads!” shouted the delighted captain. “We’ve given her a taste of our metal.”
A spattering fire ran along the schooner’s decks, the balls striking the brig’s bulwarks, but without doing any damage.