They were swaying up the mainsail when Leary happened to look over his shoulder. With the wind of the frequently recurring squalls taking hold of the great sail, they had a hard task to get it up; but at last it was set; and then they trimmed in the main-sheet, while Leary ran forward to the howitzer.
"What you got to load it with, Tim?"
"There's black powder enough, Sammie."
"But we want to do something more than salute 'em, Tim."
"M-m—there's the soundin' leads, Sammie."
"Get 'em!" And Tim went and came back with a deep-sea lead which he rammed in after a hatful or so of powder.
When all was ready four inches of the lead stuck out of the muzzle.
"No matter; you'll do," Leary commented, and cast another look toward the open water of the bay where were now twenty-five or thirty small schooners rounding the headland.
Leary now contemplated the anchor chain of his vessel.
"I hate to lose you, 'specially like this, but—" And without further word he reduced the chain to one turn of the windlass. "And now let all hands tuck away under the rail, all but one man to go aloft and look out for a small white sloop." And he took the wheel, where he was needed, for the squalls, in full force, were now whistling battle-hymns from deck to truck.