“It’s Danvers and the rest of the men,” cried Ethan.
“They’ll be here before we can get up the anchor,” said Longsword.
“Then we’ll impress help,” said Ethan briefly. Stepping to the sides of the men lashed to the mast he cut their bonds with his hanger.
“Now then, my lads,” said he, “lend a hand at the capstan.”
For a moment the men hesitated; they had caught sight of the advancing boat, and knew that it meant help; but the Irish dragoon’s pistol poked itself into their faces without any parleying, and in another instant the capstan was clanking merrily, and the heavy anchor was being drawn from the bottom of the cove. Then the seamen lent a reluctant hand at hoisting the mainsail and the jibs. As the wheel whirled under the skilful hands of Ethan Carlyle, the hanging canvas filled and the foot of the schooner broke the first ripple on her way seaward.
The boat was now near at hand, and the voice of Danvers came booming across the water.
“Schooner, ahoy.”
“Ahoy, the boat,” was Ethan’s answer as he leaned his weight upon the wheel and watched the press of wind in the sheets with satisfaction.
“Heave to,” shouted Danvers. “What do you mean by this, Spencer?”
Another sail went up on the schooner and filled; the handy little craft responded to this increased speed instantly and went flowing ahead, with a wake of spume behind her.