“Show him the bunting,” growled the captain through his clenched teeth, “and get ready the long gun.”
We looked at each other in mute astonishment. I thought of Paul Jones in a like emergency. But no one dreamed of expostulation, even if such a thing had been allowable from inferiors. The flag was brought.
“Send the bunting aloft.”
“Ay, ay, sir!”
The huge ensign, at the word, fluttered to the gaff, and whipping out on the breeze, disclosed the cognizance of the commonwealth, emblazoned on its surface. No sooner did it unclose its folds than the man-of-war luffed rapidly, and several points more than at either the preceding times; while simultaneously a sheet of continuous fire rolled along his side, and a shower of balls, ploughing up the sea betwixt the two vessels, fell like hail around the schooner. At the same moment I heard a noise like rattling thunder at my side, and looking up I saw the mainsail coming down by the run. Quicker than thought it lay a wreck across the schooner.
“We are sinking,” shouted a voice. It was that of the purser. The terror of the speaker betrayed itself in every tone. “God have mercy on us, for we are going down.”
“Silence, fool!” sternly said the skipper, and then raising his voice he thundered, “what have they hurt?”
“They’ve cut away the throat halyards, and the peak has parted with the strain,” answered the first lieutenant, who, with Westbrook and myself had sprung at once to ascertain the real cause of the alarm.
“Let new ropes be reeved—all hands to your duty—let drive with the long gun.”
The old gunner had been calmly waiting until the momentary confusion should subside; and now, with his usual flourish, he applied the match.