“That was one of our guns, I am sure of it,” exclaimed Gerald; though, from its deadness, Norah could scarcely believe that it was from one of the Ouzel Galley’s guns.
“Hurrah! we’ve begun at last,” cried Gerald, “no fear; I shouldn’t be surprised to find that the shot had knocked away one of the enemy’s topsail yards.”
Another and another gun followed in rapid succession; at intervals could be clearly distinguished the firing of the enemy’s guns, and every now and then a report succeeded by a loud thud, showing that the shot had struck some part of the Ouzel Galley.
“Fire away, my boys, fire away!” shouted Gerald. “I wish that I could be on deck, even if I’d nothing better to do than hand up the powder!”
Norah again entreated him to remain. For some time the firing continued, but from the sound of the enemy’s guns it was pretty clear that the ships had not yet got to close quarters.
“Sure, we must be giving it them,” cried Gerald. Scarcely had he spoken when there came a loud crashing sound, as if one of the masts had been knocked away and had fallen on the deck. Cries and shrieks of injured men writhing in pain penetrated even to the depths of the hold.
“Oh that some one would come and tell us what has happened!” exclaimed Norah. “I wonder our father or Owen don’t send—it must be something dreadful.”
“I’ve heard of ships holding out, even though a mast has been shot away,” said Gerald; “we don’t know what has happened to the enemy—perhaps she is worse off than we are.”
Not another gun was fired from the deck of the Ouzel Galley; that was a bad sign, and presently afterwards there came a violent concussion and a grating sound, as if one ship had run alongside the other.
“Gerald, oh, what is taking place?” cried Norah, seizing her brother’s hand.