“We shall bag the fellows this time at all events,” said Mr Heron, rubbing his hands as we were fast over-hauling the chases.
They did not, however, give in, trusting to a flaw of wind or something else turning up in their favour. The Amazon and Juno, however, by standing more to the northward soon cut off all chance of escape. They were running for the harbour of Truro, but before they could get there we drove them all three on shore at some distance from each other. A loud shout from our crews proclaimed the result of the chase. The boatswain’s shrill whistle sounding along the decks was followed by the order for all the boats to be manned and armed and sent in to get off the vessels. I had charge of a cutter with Grampus and Tom, and little Harry Sumner accompanied me. Our first aim was the brig. We pulled towards her in good order as fast as we well could. It was not till we were close alongside that the enemy showed themselves to defend her. We took no notice of them, though they opened a warmish fire of musketry on us, but, boarding together, got out hawsers, and while some of the boats went ahead to tow her out the crews of the others remained on the deck and kept the enemy at bay. Thus in a few minutes we got her triumphantly afloat, and while she was being towed out from the shore I was sent in my boat to set fire to the sloop which lay nearly a mile from the other vessels. I thought that as the attention of the enemy was engaged with the brig the work would be easy, and pulled boldly towards her. We had got within musket range when up started three fellows from behind the bulwarks and let fly at us. Their aim was good, for each of their shots struck the boat, though happily no one was hit. This salute, however, did not stop our progress.
“Give way, my lads, give way!” I shouted. “We will soon punish them for their audacity.”
They fired several times after this, but without doing us any damage. I was surprised at their boldness in still remaining on board, but on our firing the swivel we had in our bows, accompanied by a round of musketry, they quickly jumped out of sight. As, however, we were close alongside, and just about to hook on to her chains, the mystery was solved by the unwelcome apparition of two or three hundred men, with levelled fire-arms, who appeared mounting a line of sand-banks close to the water, and behind which they had till now remained concealed. The first discharge with which they saluted us knocked over two of my men, and the next wounded two more. In addition to the musketry two pieces of cannon were brought to bear on us, which, unfortunately for us, were very well served. Seeing this, and believing that I and all my people must be killed if we attempted to escape, I turned the boat’s head round and sang out for quarter, and all the disagreeables of a long imprisonment rose up before me. So exasperated, however, were the people on shore that they paid no attention to my request. Sumner had a white handkerchief, and, tying it to a stretcher, waved it above our heads. It was, however, all in vain. The enemy seemed resolved on our destruction.
“Harry, my boy,” said I, “there is no help for it. If I am hit, do your best to carry the boat out. Now give way, my lads! If we can but hold on a little we shall soon be clear.”
Even the wounded men pulled away with all their might except one who was too much hurt to handle an oar. I took his place and put Harry at the helm. The shot fell thick as hail around us, the enemy shouting and shrieking at us like demons. Still we held on. Now another of my men was hit. Suddenly I saw little Harry turn pale. He sat upright as before, but his compressed lips and an uneasy look about the eyes made me fear he was hit.
“Are you hurt, Sumner?” I asked.
“I think so,” he answered; “but never mind, it is nothing, I am sure.”
I was sure that he was hurt, however, very much, and this made me feel more savage against our enemies than anything that had occurred for a long time, but there was no time to stop and examine his wound. I had scarcely a man now left unhurt—most of them seriously so. Two poor fellows let the oars drop from their hands, and sank down in the bottom of the boat. Tom was one of them. Grampus, indeed, was the only man unhurt. He seemed to bear a charmed life, for he had run in his time more risks than any of us without receiving a wound. I was in despair, for I every instant expected to feel a bullet enter my body, and that after all we should fall into the hands of the enemy. The boat, too, was almost knocked to pieces, and it seemed a wonder that she could still swim. The wind, fortunately, was blowing strong off the land.
“We must try and get the foresail hoisted, Grampus,” said I. “If we can, we may do yet.”