I now observed that we had not yet done with the supposed Russian. We had merely run astern out of range of her guns, but not beyond the range of our large swivel. In a few minutes it was ready. The captain sighted the gun, and gave the word “Fire!”
The ship quivered with the shock, and so large was the ball that I could distinctly trace its flight. It fell short a few yards. “So, so,” muttered the captain. “The next will do its work.”
He was right. The next ball struck the rails that ran round the poop, carried away the binnacle, and raked the upper deck from stern to stem. I could see it quite plainly with the glass.
“Hurrah!” shouted some of the crew.
“Silence, you babies,” growled the captain; “time enough to crow when our work’s done.”
The men who had cheered fell back abashed. I noticed that they were chiefly the younger men of the crew, whose countenances were not yet utterly unhumanised by crime.
“Load.”
“Ready.”
“Fire!”
Again the huge iron mass sprang from the cannon’s mouth, and rushed along its deadly track. It struck the top of a wave, and bounding up passed through the sails and cordage of the Russian, cutting one or two of the lighter spars, and also the main topsail halyards, which caused the yard to come rattling down, and rendered the sail useless. Seeing this, the pirate captain ordered sail to be reduced in order to keep at a sufficient distance astern to render the guns of the chase useless. Every shot from our gun now told with terrible effect. We could see the splinters fly as every ball entered the ship’s stern, or swept her deck, or crashed through her rigging. Presently she turned her broadside to us.