By this time the other smugglers had become alarmed. The longboat gun, which worked on a slide abaft all, was cleared, and the two little cohorns, or hand-swivel guns, which pointed over the sides, were trained and loaded. A man swarmed up the mainmast to look around. "The cutter's bearing up to close," he called out. "I see she's the Salcombe boat."
"That shows they have information," said Marah grimly, "otherwise they'd not be looking for us here. Some one had been talking to his wife." He hailed the masthead again. "Have the frigates seen us yet?"
For answer, the man took a hurried glance to windward, turned visibly white to the lips, and slid down a rope to the deck. "Bearing down fast, under stunsails," he reported. "The cutter's signalled them with her topsail. There's three frigates coming down," he added.
"Right," said Marah. "I'll go up and see for myself."
He went up, and came down again looking very ugly. He evidently thought that he was in a hole. "As she goes," he called to the helmsman, "get all you can on the sheets, boys. Now Jim, you're up a tree; you're within an hour of being pressed into the Navy. How'd ye like to be a ship's boy, hey, and get tickled up by a bo'sun's rope-end?"
"I shouldn't like it at all," I answered.
"You'll like it a jolly sight less than that," said he, "and it's what you'll probably be. We're ten miles from home. The cutter's in the road. The frigates will be on us in half-an-hour. It will be a mighty close call, my son; we shall have to fight to get clear."
At that instant of time something went overhead with a curious whanging whine.
"That's a three-pound ball," said Marah, pointing to a spurt upon a wave. "The cutter wants us to stop and have breakfast with 'em."
"Whang," went another shot, flying far overhead. "Fire away," said Marah. "You're more than a mile away; you will not hit us at that range."