“Well, gentlemen,” said the seaman, as he raised the glass, “here’s to our voyage, and—”
The word was never spoken, for a distant but loud report, followed by the rending of wood, interrupted him. For a moment the old seaman stood like a statue, the next he was on deck.
The first glance explained to him the reason of the continued confusion on board the schooner, which a moment before he had sneered at as a proof of incapacity. The pirate had gone to windward, and now lay on the brig’s weather quarter, the tack of her mainsail hauled up, quite out of the reach of her fire. Her crew had been busy getting up from her hold a long eighteen-pounder, which was shipped amidships, and worked on a swivel. The first shot had struck the “Halcyon’s” bulwarks, just abaft the foremast, leaving a long white strip, where the wood had been torn away.
Both captain and mate looked at each other, for here seamanship was powerless.
“The bloody-minded villains!” ejaculated the mate.
“They have us at their mercy,” sighed the master. “Sailing more than three feet for our one, there they can stick and pound away at us as they like.”
“Shall we try our range, Captain Weber?”
“Do so, but it is quite useless,” was the reply, as the seaman leaned his elbows on the weather bulwarks, and gazed steadily at the schooner.
“Take good aim, my lads, and fire when you are ready.”
The light report of the gun, differing so greatly from the loud heavy thud of the eighteen-pounder, was heard, and the master noted the hall as it flew from wave to wave, scattering the spray, but finally dropping with a splash into the sea, a few hundred yards short of the schooner.