"What the divil's the difference? Before this toime next year, we'll be shootin' redcoats for sport."
"Say, what's that, shipmate?" drawled out Luff Williams.
"Where?"
"Look ahead."
"A long boat full o' British marines!" cried Terrence. "Boys, I don't like that. Mr. Luff Williams, if ye want a whole skin over yer body pull about and sail down the coast like the divil was after ye!"
In less than two minutes' time their craft was put about and went flying before the wind, under a full stretch of canvas. The boat impelled by eight stout oarsmen pressed hard in their wake.
"Heave to! heave to!" cried an officer in the pursuing boat. "Heave to, or we will fire on you!"
"Niver mind him, me frind," said Terrence to the man at the rudder. "I'll tell ye when to lay low."
They were in long musket shot distance, and Williams assured them that if they could round a headland, they would get a stiffer breeze and outsail their pursuer.
"Are they gaining on us?" Fernando asked.