Exciseman Thomas Playle swore with disappointment as he ran forward and saw the very little distance between the two brigs, but he loosened the broad-bladed cutlass at his hip and, shouting to his men to follow, swung himself into one of the boats.
“Maria! they’re trying to board us,” shouted Blueneck, whipping out his knife and running to the side.
Instantly there was confusion, the greater portion of the crew running after their mate to the still floating side of the brig.
This sudden change of weight saved the situation. With a lurch, a roll, and a quiver, the Anny jerked off the mud, Habakkuk seized the tiller just in time, and the brig slid on down the creek.
A yell of disappointment rang out from the first boatload of Preventative men and echoed over the fast-darkening mud-flats. The tide was coming in like a mill-stream, and any moment the Charles might also swing clear, but Playle would not wait; springing into a second boat, he urged his men to row the faster in a vain attempt to catch the Anny.
Old Noah Goody did his best with the cannon, but the progress of the little rowboats was so irregular that he could never get the exact range.
The Anny shot away from the boats at first, but as she came nearer into the shore the channel grew narrower and narrower and she was forced to take in most of her canvas.
Dick stood on the bows looking at the fast-gaining boats, and thinking. If on reaching the shore he abandoned the brig and he and his men ran to hide on the Island, the Preventative men would scuttle the Anny and confiscate her cargo, which was an extra valuable one of Jamaica rum and fine Brussels lace. His only alternative was to fight.
By this time the brig was within twenty yards of the beach, and in another moment her keel grated on the muddy shingle.
The excise men were not far behind.