“Keep her off a couple of points,” he bawled to Henry, and, as the barque yawed a little, he fired.
We watched to see the shot strike, and saw a jet of water thrown against the brig’s side, telling plainly that the ball had struck at or below the water-line. Several men cheered, but behind me I heard a fierce oath. Turning, I saw Martin glaring savagely at Hawkson, while near him stood Anderson with a scowl on his face. Even as I looked in surprise, the wily Scot caught my eye, and his look changed.
“’Tis a pity it didn’t hit him and cut his mast out. Ye may ken it’s far better to knock out a spar in a chase,” said he to me, in a low voice that Hawkson could not hear. His tone was not natural, however, and I wondered at him for some time afterward, and thought of the possible ways the long skipper could have heard of the barque’s treasure-chest in the lazarette that he had run off with so handily. We were soon busy firing the guns of the port broadside as fast as we could serve them at the enemy, now well within range.
Shot were striking the barque often, for the Yankee was making excellent practice with his light guns, but no one had been injured aboard. This being cut up did not suit Howard. He valued the old vessel too highly to have her hurt badly, and knew also the difficulty of repairing old timbers.
“Let her head up half a point,” said he, and we were soon dead astern of the brig and creeping up toward her, our own guns unable to fire, and receiving only the fire of one little six-pounder they brought on the poop. This single gun made havoc with our sails, hitting them time and again, and tearing our outer jib so badly that it was useless. We drew closer, and suddenly the Yankee ceased firing. We were very close to him now, and the long skipper could be easily seen leaning indolently upon the poop-rail, watching us with apparent unconcern.
Hawkson took up a speaking-trumpet and bawled out.
“Heave that vessel to, or we’ll sink you,” he roared.
The long captain put his hand to his ear, as if unable to understand, and the hail was repeated.
“I can’t heave her to,” drawled the fellow. “There’s too many men aboard her, an’ they won’t let me.”
Yankee Dan now came from below, where he had taken his daughter for protection, and gazed at the brig.