His passengers in the hold, Captain Weber, fully relying on the soldier’s promise, and certain his brig could never fall into the hands of the pirates, had made his last dispositions. An old sailor named Porter was at the wheel, the crew, as it had previously been determined, were divided into two watches, one under the mate on the forecastle, the other with Wyzinski, commanded by the captain. The break of the quarter-deck had been fortified with a number of bales and boxes roused up from below, an opening for the nine-pounders having been left. The same arrangements had been made for the forecastle, and the companion ladders removed. The “Halcyon” surged along, the wind aft, under the little sail she could show, but the schooner was coming up, hand-over-hand, the wind over her quarter. The brig already felt the coming squall, and, had she not lost her masts, would have cared little for the pirate. Hauling down his foresail under his mainsail and jib, the piratical craft came sweeping up with the diminished sail. It was a beautiful sight as her low black hull drew through the waves, her flush decks crowded with men, and the long eighteen-pounder slewed fore and aft. Feeling the first puffs of the squall, she heeled over, showing the bright copper nearly to her keel, while the water swirled in jets from her wedge-like bows. On she came, driving through the seas until she was a couple of lengths only from the brig, and then a discharge of musketry, and a shout to heave-to followed.
“Run up the Union Jack,” said Captain Weber, in deep guttural tones, “we will show them the temper of the old flag yet.”
“Do you see yonder fellow at the wheel? If I did not know to the contrary, I should say it is the very man who led the attack in St Augustine’s Bay,” exclaimed the missionary.
“You are a dead rifle shot,” replied the captain, speaking slowly and deliberately, “are you not?”
Another hail from the schooner followed. She was now, as has been already said, running under her mainsail and jib, and yet fore-reaching on the brig though her main tack was hauled up, her crew once more getting the eighteen-pounder ready to discharge before boarding.
“I am,” replied Wyzinski, the schooner’s hail being unanswered.
“Pick off that man when I raise my hand. Remember, sir,” added the captain, speaking sharply and sternly, “remember, sir, I am about to play my last stake, and all depends on your aim.”
Leaving Wyzinski, the seaman stood by the wheel, his eyes fixed on the schooner. It was evidently her intention to pass under the brig’s bows, and range up under her lee using her gun before boarding. So near were the two craft that a biscuit could have been thrown aboard either.
“Port a little. Luff you may, Porter—”
“Ay, ay, sir,” replied the man. “Luff it is, sir,” and the schooner passed ahead.