“Hurrah!” cried Desmond; “she has given in.”
“Not a bit of it,” answered Adair; “see, she is going to set a wider spread of canvas than before.”
He was right. Presently a long tapering yard rose to the head of the stern, the sail swelling out like the balloon jib of a racing yacht, and shining brightly in the rising sun.
“Should the breeze increase, she will walk away from us like greased lightning, as the Yankees say,” observed Adair.
“We’ll hope, then, it will remain calm,” said Archie. As it was, though the men strained at their oars, it taxed their utmost strength to gain on her. Still, they were gaining. Desmond and Archie stepped forward to assist Jerry in getting the gun ready to fire a shot as soon as they got near enough to make her heave-to. Light as was the breeze, the dhow continued to slip rapidly through the water. It was evident, however, that the boat was gaining on her, and the men redoubled their efforts.
“Shall we fire, sir?” asked Archie. “We might manage to bring down her sail.”
“Fire over her,” answered Adair; “a shot might chance to hurt some of the poor slaves, instead of the rascally Arabs.”
Jerry elevated the gun, and pulled the trigger. Away flew the shot right through the dhow’s huge sail; but her crew, looking to windward, fancied that the breeze was about to freshen. The gun was quickly sponged and again loaded.
“Try another shot,” cried Adair; “if you can hit the yard or mast, it will save us a long pull.”
Jerry willingly obeyed; but again the shot, though well aimed, only went through the sail.