“Have been boarded by pirates—by a Black Schooner—men cut down in defending the vessel—the pirates left but me and another man, who is now ill below—they took away every thing,” answered the individual.
“It must be those same devils of pirates,” whispered the boatmen one to the other, “who have raked that cove; what fellows they seem to be, we will singe them some of those days though—be damn’d if we don’t.”
“If you would only let one of your men come on board for a moment to help me trim the yards, I should be all right,” added the individual at the gangway.
“Hum!” muttered the young midshipman; “that’s not much, but I fancy, old boy, you will do yourself no good in setting your sails, unless you wish the wind to help you take them in. Pull along side, men,” he said, after a second or two, “I shall go on deck and help him.”
The boat soon boarded the vessel.
“Keep the boat off,” said the officer, as he grasped the ropes of the steps.
“Ay, ay, sir,” said the boatswain, and the boat was shoved off from the vessel.
A shrill sound was heard, the apparent sides of the distressed barque opened, the stern fell heavily into the water, the racketty yards and old ropes went over the side, and from amidst the wreck of the skeleton ship, the Black Schooner sprang forth as she felt the power of her snow-white sails, which, with the rapidity of lightning, had now clothed her tall masts.
This metamorphosis was so sudden, that the schooner had already begun to move before the boatmen comprehended the change. They quickly pulled alongside, and fastened their hooks, but no hand of man could hold them. They were all torn away by the speed with which the schooner went. Every man in his turn let go his hold, and the boat, with its angry crew, was left floating far behind in the wake of the flying schooner.