The breeze freshened at the moment. We were still about a mile from the bar, on which the swell was breaking in thunder; but we had run clear of the skirts of the mist, and the placid moon was again shining crystal bright overhead. The yells from the canoes increased. A volley of spears were lanced at us, several of which fell on board, but none of them did any injury; and several muskets were also fired from the tiny men-of-war, which were equally innocuous. The strange sail was right in our path.
"What shall we do?" sung out old Pumpbolt from forward.
Trusting to the great strength of the Midge, Lanyard shouted,—"Plump us right aboard of him, if you can't do better; but creep under his stern, if you can. So starboard, Brail—starboard—steady—that will do."
"Steady," I replied; but he would not give us the opportunity, for as he saw us booming along, apparently aiming at him right amidships, as if we had thought we could have sawn him in two, the youth bore up, and stood right for the bar.
"So, so," quoth Davie Doublepipe—"we are away on a party of pleasure together, I perceive, señor?"
We carried on, but the Don, from superior sailing, kept well on our bow; and we were now, as we could judge from the increasing roar of the breakers, rapidly approaching the river's mouth.
At this time we had a distinct view, not only of our formidable antagonist, a large topsail schooner, and apparently full of men, but of the bar which we were about to pass, in such uncomfortable fellowship.
The canal of deep water that our steady and most excellent master aimed at, was about fifty yards wide. In it there was depth enough to allow the swell from without to roll in, clear and unbroken, had it not been met by the downward current of the river, aided, as in the present case, by the land-breeze, which made it break in short foam-crested waves.
We carried on. All firing for the moment was out of our craniums on either side.
"Do you see your marks now, Mr Brail—there in the clear?" cried the master.