“Too far off,” said the Lieutenant, rising from the parapet on which he was leaning, and showing a drowsy unshaven countenance; “we should only frighten them.”
“By heavens!” said my grandfather, “’tis horrible. I shall see the boy taken before my eyes!”
“Boy!” quoth the Lieutenant, wondering what particular interest the Major could take in the smuggler. “What boy?”
“Why, Owen of ours—he’s running away with a Spanish lady.”
“The devil!” cried the Lieutenant, jumping down. “What, Garry Owen!—we must try a long shot. Pull those quoins out” (to a gunner). “Corporal, lay that gun; a dollar if you hit the felucca. I’ll try a shot with this one.” So saying, he laid the thirty-two pounder next him with great care.
“Fire!” said he, jumping on the parapet to see the effect of the shot. At the second rebound it splashed under the bows of the leading felucca, which still held on. She was now scarcely three hundred yards from the cutter.
“Why, d—n their impudence!” muttered the Lieutenant, on seeing his warning pass unheeded, “they won’t take a hint. Corporal, let drive at ’em.”
The Corporal earned his dollar. The shot went through the side of the felucca, on board of which all was presently confusion; in a few minutes it was apparent she was sinking. The other, abandoning the chase, went to the assistance of her consort, lifting the crew out, some of whom were evidently hurt.
“A blessed shot!” cried my grandfather, giving the lucky Corporal a bit of gold; “but I’m glad they’re picking up the crew.”
The cutter instantly stood in for the harbour, and half an hour afterwards the Major bade his young friend and Juana welcome to Gibraltar.