“Tell him to drop a shot under the stern of the chase; but to be careful not to strike her!”
“Now, Mr. Carr, you hear the order—‘Drop a shot under her stern, but do not strike her.’”
“Very good, sir!” “Muzzle to the right,” “Muzzle to the left”—“Well”—“Elevate”—“Lower”—“Well”—“Fire!”
Bang went the gun, and the shot was seen to strike the water close to the taffrail; the water splashing over the quarter-deck of the chase. This appeared somewhat to alarm those on board. A flag was hoisted abaft, but being rolled up, it was impossible to make out what colours she displayed.
Still the stranger held on her course, every moment, apparently, hurrying her and all on board to destruction.
“With shot, load!”
“All ready, sir!”
“Fire across her bows, but be careful you do not strike her!”
“Ay, ay, sir.”
In less than a minute, a fifty-six pound shot dropped under the bow of the stranger, covering her bowsprit with a cloud of foam. This appeared to bring her commander to his senses, for the anchor was immediately let go, and amidst the din of the chain-cable rattling out of the hawse-hole, and the most fearful yelling and shouting—interspersed with which might be heard the stentorian lungs of a ruffian uttering the most awful oaths, in the vilest of Portuguese—she came head to wind.