“I think the boats have got the captain, and the rest of them, on board, by the way they pull,” shouted Linton, to Tompion, who commanded the cutter. “Tackle them first, and we may pay the other rascals off afterwards. Huzza, my men—give way, or they will be into their den before we can get alongside them.”
“The mistico has tacked,” shouted Tompion, in return. “Shall I fire into her?”
“No—no; no firing—we may be hitting our friends,” cried Linton. “Let her go—we can get her afterwards.”
As the boats drew near her, the mistico opened a fire of small arms and swivels on them over the larboard side; for she was now standing directly across their course, bringing them, as she got more to the northward, under her stern; so that when she again tacked, she would be able to bring her starboard broadside to bear on them. The pirate boats also commenced a slight and uncertain fire, showing that very few of them had arms; but, as they drew near the shore, the cliffs appeared fringed with a blaze of fire, which opened down upon them.
Still undaunted, Linton pushed on: the boats were occasionally hit, but no one was wounded. The mistico again tacked; but she found the wind more scant than she had probably expected, and she consequently fell off, and instead of having the English boats on her starboard side, she passed astern of them, unable to fire, so close were both parties together, without an equal chance of injuring her own friends. The same cause also prevented the people on the cliffs from keeping up the hot fire they might otherwise have done; for in the darkness of night it was difficult to distinguish the position of the English boats, in consequence of their carefully abstaining from firing. Linton and his followers were almost up with the sternmost of the pirate boats when the lofty cliffs opened, as it seemed, by magic—the enemy disappeared in the narrow opening, and, as they were boldly pushing after them, they found a thick chain drawn across the passage, and at the same time a blaze of fire opened from the broadside of the brig, moored across it.
“Back your larboard oars, pull up your starboard oars, my men,” shouted Linton. “We are in a trap—must give it up, or be knocked to pieces, I’m afraid. Let all the boats pull to the south-west as fast as they can till we are out of the range of their guns.”
It was, indeed, time for the British to retire; for besides the big guns and swivels of the brig, every accessible point of the cliffs above their head appeared covered with musketry, and several heavy pieces sent forth their messengers of destruction from beneath the walls of the castle. Never were boats perhaps exposed to a hotter fire—to penetrate into the harbour was utterly impossible, and the probability of their escaping was small indeed.
“Pull on—pull for your lives, my men,” shouted the young lieutenant, as the boats’ heads came round, and their crews endeavoured to escape from the showers of round shot and bullets, which dashed the water up on every side of them, wounding several, and sending more than one brave heart to its last account.
“We shall do yet, my men. We’ll pay the villains off for this!” he shouted. “Oh, Heaven! They’ve done for me. Take the helm, Duff, and tell Mr Tompion—”
He spoke in a low tone, and before he finished the sentence he sunk down at the bottom of the boat.