The fugitive was the Swallow, the formidable English man-of-war, commanded by two of the bravest captains, David Oyle and—Rolls.
When Barthelemy had captured all the ships that had been sent against him, the Swallow sailed out alone to seek and conquer him.
On reaching the harbor, they saw in the distance the pirate ships, which were easily recognized, and wanted to attack them at once, but were obliged first to sail around a large shoal known as the "French Sand-bank," and the pirates, mistaking this circuit for flight, rushed in pursuit.
The Swallow merely sailed far enough out to sea to lure the Fox-Hound to a point where the cannonading could not be heard on land, and then allowed herself to be overtaken.
Suddenly the pirates, with loud shouts, ran up the black flag and dashed with the speed of an arrow toward the Swallow. Skyrme stood in the bow, holding his grappling iron ready.
"Barthelemy and death!" roared the whole band.
At the same moment the cannon of the British ship, with a terrible thunder, sent a devastating volley upon the deck of the Fox-Hound, veiling her in a cloud of smoke.
As soon as it lifted, the pirates were seen standing as if dazed by the thunderbolt which had fallen upon them. The deck was strewn with mangled corpses, the black flag was shot from the mast. Skyrme alone had retained his presence of mind.
"Forward, you knaves!" he roared furiously, "what are you staring at? Up with the flag again, and throw your grappling irons."