Early one morning, Moosa directed the head of his vessel towards the land with the intention of procuring the much needed water. At the same hour and place two cutters belonging to H.M.S. ‘Firefly,’ armed with gun and rocket, twenty men, and an interpreter, crept out under sail with the fishing boats from a neighbouring village. They were under the command of Lieutenants Small and Lindsay respectively. For some days they had been there keeping vigilant watch, but had seen no dhows, and that morning were proceeding out rather depressed by the influence of “hope deferred,” when a sail was observed in the offing—or, rather, a mast, for the sail of the dhow had been lowered—the owners intending to wait until the tide should enable them to cross the bar.
“Out oars and give way, lads,” was the immediate order; for it was necessary to get up all speed on the boats if the dhow was to be reached before she had time to hoist her huge sail.
“I hope the haze will last,” earnestly muttered Lieutenant Small in the first cutter.
“Oh that they may keep on sleeping for five minutes more,” excitedly whispered Lieutenant Lindsay in the second cutter.
These hopes were coupled with orders to have the gun and rocket in readiness.
But the haze would not last to oblige Mr Small, neither would the Arabs keep on sleeping to please Mr Lindsay. On the contrary, the haze dissipated, and the Arabs observed and recognised their enemies when within about half a mile. With wonderful celerity they hoisted sail and stood out to sea in the full-swing of the monsoon.
There was no little probability that the boats would fail to overhaul a vessel with so large a sail, therefore other means were instantly resorted to.
“Fire!” said Mr Small.
“Fire!” cried Mr Lindsay.
Bang went the gun, whiz went the rocket, almost at the same moment. A rapid rifle-fire was also opened on the slaver—shot, rocket, and ball bespattered the sea and scattered foam in the air, but did no harm to the dhow, a heavy sea and a strong wind preventing accuracy of aim.